


Mad-Eye Moody's Little Marauder

by selenaquana



Series: All the People Who Would Have Been Better Guardians for Harry [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Amelia's responsible, Auror Training, Auror office, Author takes lots of liberties with Moody's character because he needs more love, BAMF Amelia Bones, BAMF Mad-eye Moody, Family, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Gen, How the entire series should have been resolved, Irrelevant!Dumbledore, Protecting Harry Potter, Rescued!Harry Potter, Rescuing Harry Potter, the rest are all just children, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenaquana/pseuds/selenaquana
Summary: Mad-Eye Moody always wanted kids, but it never happened. So he made due with a slew of apprentices.Until one day, he finds a little boy who needs someone to step up. Someone who can protect him from any threat, and more importantly, teach him how to protect himself.Or, how one adult stepping up can change the world (and also make people's heads spin).
Relationships: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody & Harry Potter, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody & Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody & Sirius Black, Amelia Bones & Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Amelia Bones & Susan Bones, Amelia Bones/Justice, Remus Lupin & Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Susan Bones & Harry Potter
Series: All the People Who Would Have Been Better Guardians for Harry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564921
Comments: 239
Kudos: 889





	1. Chapter 1

Alastor “Mad-eye” Moody hated walks. He hated the outdoors. He hated nature. He hated sunshine. He hated being in public places where he couldn’t vet the surroundings. Or where people he didn’t know might be. Suspicious people. People who would be suspicious of him. He hated open places where anyone could take him out with a sniper shot.

Alastor Mad-eye Moody was not, however, an idiot. He knew that his vigilance could sometimes go too far. And really, if he was to anxious to go in a public space for a walk, he was to anxious to be an auror.

Alastor Mad-eye Moody loved his job. Many who knew him after he became an auror would doubt this, but Moody loved many things. He loved history. He loved his county, even if it was made up of some idiots with dandelion fluff for brains. To those that knew him in school, then, the fact that he loved his job would not seem out of place. In fact, for a Hufflepuff, to find a job where one could help people and pursue justice and find self-fulfilment was the goal of life. 

Alastor Mad-eye Moody also had a good deal of fondness for children. He had adored his younger siblings growing up. He had adored the younger years over whom he was prefect (although not Head Boy because Minerva was in his year and everyone knew there was no beating out that smart-ass). He had always wanted children. Unfortunately, he hated the aforementioned sheep with dandelion fluff for brains. And he found, during his teen years, most women of his age fell into that category. When presented with the choice between time at a career he knew was fulfilling and the pursuit of some perfect bride he may never meet, he chose work. Every time. Until he was to old and scarred and all the women of his generation interested in a family were taken. So he lived his parental fantasies out vicariously through his friends (yes, he did have friends, despite what the younger aurors thought) and apprentices.

Alastor Mad-eye Moody loved his apprentices, even if he swore he’d never let them know. Shack was a good kid, strong and capable. Scrimgeour was intelligent, crafty, if a bit bigoted. Bones was a genius, and he doubted he’d ever felt prouder than the day she was named Head of the DMLE. Felt like he was walking his own daughter down the aisle (even if she was only a decade younger than him) when he handed her the key to the director’s office after Crouch moved out to International Relations. (He had loved Black and Potter too, for all the good it did him. One dead and the other a traitor, should have seen the signs… No, man, no. You’ve thought of that enough. Nobody saw it, not even James, and he was a damn fine auror. Nobody saw it, stop thinking about it, that way leads madness.)

Alastor Mad-eye Moody knew he was paranoid. He also worked very hard to make people think he was more paranoid than he actually was. He made them think he was crazy. Many people ignored the threat a crazy person posed. And his paranoia kept the young’uns on their toes, kept them honest, and most importantly kept them alive (except Potter… damn it man, focus!)

At the moment, Alastor was taking one of the hated walks. He didn’t trust the wizarding world for such a thing, of course. To small-town, to many people who knew him. To many people who hated him. To many people who would try and have a bloody conversation with him. No, no, the wizarding world had no anonymity.

So, he took his every-other-day walks through the muggle world. This offered a variety of convenient advantages. Nobody knew him, so nobody wanted to talk. Heads down, they’d shuffle around each other on the sidewalk and move on, nothing to see here. He got a few glances for his scars and his leg (a muggle prosthetic, far better than anything wizards made, charmed to look like an eagle’s claw when a wizard looked at it. After all, if wizards thought he used a slow, plodding, noisy, garish thing like that, they’d never expect him to move with the speed the muggle prosthetic allowed). But he had learned long ago how to keep his back straight and face blank, putting of the invisible aura of _military veteran_. He even had the occasional man from the muggle forces salute him passing on the street, which Moody was quick to return. After all, a fellow warrior was a fellow warrior, even if they fought different types of evil. These walks also allowed for observation of muggle customs, dress, and other things. Moody hated the wizards who failed to keep up with the times, that was just asking for trouble. His own home was in a muggle neighborhood, with a television, radio, telephone, and other such appliances. Knowing how to blend and operate was important for every modern wizard, and muggle ways and fashions changed so often. The only way to keep up on it was to maintain constant vigilance.

Alastor also, as a matter of course, intentionally took his walk in a different region every time. Today, a warm fall day, with leaves just browning and the smell of rain in the air, he was walking in Surrey, a small town called Little Whinging to be precise. 

This, he realized quickly, was a mistake. Suburbs were much harder for blending in, as the women peeking out from behind curtains or over fences could attest. And this suburb seemed particularly bad, with houses and yards all laid out in neat, same-looking roads. But, clearly if he was being noticed, he was not blending in well enough. The only way to fix that was to learn where he stood out and amend the behavior. 

He passed a young, harried looking mother with a set of screaming twins in a stroller and a tired two-year old clinging to her trouser pocket. Moody gave the little boy his least terrifying smile (yes, he had those, even if giving them pulled on the scars and hurt like hell, wich was why he saved them for cases like this), and got a shy shuffle behind his mother in return. The woman nodded and smiled kindly before going on her way. 

It would appear, from the increased ruffling of curtains, that was the wrong thing to do. Huh.

Alastor had just reached the small alley separating house eleven from house ten, still mulling over what could give him away, when a small body hit him from the side. Alastor, for whom balancing was always difficult due to the missing leg, immediately went down. The boy, for it was a boy, did not. And then the child looked at Moody with a face that stopped his heart cold, muttered a quick sorry, and ran off.

Alastor had no idea what to think. The boy was tiny, far to tiny. He should be what, six? But the tyke barely looked four! And his cheeks, all sunken in like that one kid Moody had pulled out of the Bower house a few years ago…

That thought stopped his heart for the second time. No. There was no way Harry bloody Potter was in the same type of situation as the Bower kids. Potter was supposed to be safe, protected. Albus would never let anyone treat him like… well, like _that_.

Moody was pulled from his thoughts as a gang of children came upon him, covered in dirt, screeching.

“Get ‘im”

“Yeah, run away little coward!”

“Yeah, that’s what you get freak!”

Well, well. It looked like a group of schoolyard bullies. Wonderful creatures, children. Moody did love them. Particularly well behaved ones. Of course, when he was a prefect, he learned that sometimes one had to intervene to turn a rowdy child into a behaved one. And luckily, no parent would believe a six year old about the strange man who said weird words and left them with wedgies for three days, or made their shoes constantly untie, or any other type of “bad luck” that might befall them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, writing this was fun. I tried out a new way of planning out/outlining a story, and ended up with this. I felt like trying to go deeper into it would have been really hard though, so it's only about 20000 words total. Still, my first complete fic (well not quite, still writing up the ending a bit, but close enough)! Yay!
> 
> I wanted to get this out so the Christmas chapter would line up with the holiday, but alas, that wont happen. So instead, I'll be posting this every two weeks on Saturday. 
> 
> Constructive Criticism is always welcome! Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Moody stood on the sidewalk, invisibility cloak drawn around his shoulders, and looked into house number four. He watched as the two cousins got home from school, one greated with biscuits and tea, the other with a rough tug on the arm and a list of chores. He watched as one cousin sat before the television snacking away while the other was shoved into a cupboard to complete both boy’s homework sets. He watched as dinner was prepared and served by the younger boy, who only got the leftovers. 

He also, occasionally, turned to look into the home of his old play-mate Ms. Figg. Who, from Moody’s observation, saw the boy regularly, including watching out the window as he was chased around the block. 

For an entire week, Mad-eye had tried to convince himself Albus would do something. And yet, nothing happened. His inquiry about the boy (couched as a question about security and a request for his location based on a tip that someone was going to make a move, couldn’t let Albus know Moody already knew the address) was answered with written platitudes about how “it is necessary the boy remain with his loving and caring family, and I have a watcher appointed to ensure he is safe. I can assure you, old friend, the child is in good hands and well protected, even from the evil you report.”

Loving and caring Moody’s scared ass. That boy was being abused. They never quite hit him, at least when Moody was there… but they encouraged the fat cousin to do so. The fed him… the scraps. They gave him a bed… sized for a crib under the stairs. They gave him clothes… ten sizes too big.

No, this couldn’t stand. And if Albus hadn’t done anything yet, he wasn’t going to. Going to Bones would just mean an investigation. Which would mean a team of aurors. At least one of whom would talk, and then there would be rumors, and then reporters. No, that wouldn’t do. The boy didn’t need this to be public knowledge. Not to mention the Death Eaters that were still out there. Hell, Lucius Malfoy would probably start bribing his way into being foster father the second word got out. Nobody could be trusted, not even Lupin, until Alastor knew who actually had Potter’s best interest at heart. And for that he’d need time, time that the boy could not spend being abused.

Luckily, as the senior most and highly respected auror, Moody had some leeway. A lot of leeway. In order to facilitate safe-houses during the war, a handful of senior aurors, including Alastor, had the ability to take anyone in danger into protective custody without paperwork. Most aurors with that capability either died or retired after the war, and nobody bothered to have the bill repealed in the Wizengamot just because one cooky old timer stayed on when everybody else settled down in peace. 

Half of Alastor, the part he’d put on a shelf after Hogwarts and only occasionally let out around his apprentices, was happy with the idea. After decades of defending nameless, faceless citizens who never thought to say thank you, he could put his skills towards a single person. Someone to protect and take care of, something he hadn’t really had since his siblings all got wiped out with dragonpox. A way to make up to James for failing to see Black’s betrayal. And, a way to do something good that didn’t involve hexes and curses for once. Moody had become a legal foster parent in both worlds several decades before, but every time a case came up where a kid needed to foster, whether permanently or temporarily, everyone made sure the kid ended up with someone else. Moody got it of course, he had no children of his own and no wife while most fosters did, he was an old auror in a dangerous job. But really, it was like they thought he’d bite the kid’s heads off. Hell, if it wasn’t for the curse on the position, Moody would have become the DADA professor! Why be a badass auror when you can do more good training the next generation to protect themselves? Now, he could get redemption, protect a child, and maybe have someone to take care of again. The part of him that wanted all of that was positively cheery, and no part of Moody had been cheery in at least a decade.

The rest of him screamed about how he was a creepy old man and this could only end badly and he had no idea how to take care of the kid full time blah blah blah. 

But he was a protector damn it. And if Albus and the entire world were going after the kid, Moody’d be damned before he’d leave the kid unprotected. 

So, he watched until all the lights along the street flickered out, before he walked up to the house. A silent alohamora was enough to open the door (honestly Albus, safe my ass), and from there it was only seven steps to the cupboard. Without the walls in the way, many more details became apparent. The house was bland and boring, and if Moody didn’t know better he’d think it was a fake setup, the sort of thing to throw off investigators from the drug lab in the basement. Actually, that made a lot of sense. Most abusers tried to cover up the abuse with some veneer of normalcy, be it faked or presumed. Boring beige walls were covered with pictures of the fat whale sleeping up the stares, but none of the little waif Moody was after. 

That, he supposed, would be useful to. If the bastards called the cops, any investigator worth his salt would note the lack of pictures, and pay attention for other signs of abuse. And, eventually, the muggles would assume the boy had either run away from an awful home, or been killed off by one of the Dursleys. And if they didn’t call for a bobby when the boy went missing, then there would be no evidence that he was ever here, and therefore no reason to investigate. 

Moody took a moment, before the little cupboard door, to consider how to handle the boy. He couldn’t have the kid wake up the adults, so a quick silence bubble was put up. Knowing that barging in was likely to spook the child, Alastor took off the cloak before knocking in three short raps with his walking stick. 

“Aunt Petunia?” a quiet, groggy voice asked. Damn it, even the lad’s voice sounded week and harried. 

“Not exactly. I’m an old friend of your parent’s. I came to help.” Moody grunted

The door, which had been opening slowly, immediately halted, and a face appeared, taped glasses shoved on the nose and green eyes still teary from being woken. Those same eyes widened when they caught sight of the large (well, short, but not to this emerald-eyed sack of bones), imposing man on the other side, before the entire head ducked inside and the door was slammed shut. Not that it kept Moody from seeing where the boy was, of course. 

“Now now laddie. None o’ that. Pretty scary, I know, but the first rule of facin’ a wizard you don’t know is never let on you’re afraid. Now, you want me gone, I’m gone, but until you say that, I have a few words of my own.”

Potter uncurled from the corner where he’d taken shelter a tad. Good. Giving a kid like that, all cornered and scared, a way out was normally a good first step (damn abuse cases).

“The first thing you need to know is that I knew your parents. Trained your father in fact. A police officer, he was, and a right good one. Saved a lot o’ people, James Potter did. Man like that is a hero. But, a man like that has enemies. When your parents died, another old friend of ours put you here. Thought it was best to put you with family. But I’m not so sure if they’re the right sort, and your mother would crawl out of her grave and beat me black and blue if I didn’t make sure you were alright.”

At the mention of James, the boy perked up, kneeling on the worn mattress and bouncing such that the old springs creaked a little. When he talked about Lily, the lad reached for the door, only to pull back when he mentioned beating black and blue. Suggesting the lad saw beatings as a distinct possibility, and one he disliked. Damn it. While not conclusive, the slight ticks the boy gave off suggested Moody was right. 

“I’ll tell you now, I don’t like that aunt of yours. Like that uncle even less. But, maybe I saw things wrong. So I wanna hear from you. They treat you right? Feed you enough? Keep the bullies at bay?” 

With each question, Potter curled more again, until he had his chin on his knees and arms around his shins. Three “no”s then. Alastor gave it a few minutes. 

“Well boy? You have an answer for me?”

The door creaked open slightly, although the lad had his knees under him, ready to spring away. If he was an auror trainee, Moody would say good instincts. But a six year old kid…

The boy grated out the words with no inflection, like he’d been forced to memorize them. “Yes, sir. My aunt and uncle were very kind to take me in. They take good care of me, even when I’m a troublemaking brat who doesn’t deserve it.”

Moody started to reply, but then stopped himself. Troublemaking? He wanted to say that was to be expected, given James, but for all Moody knew, the lad thought talking was troublemaking. Best not to make any assumption about what those two crapsacks told the lad until he had him out. 

“Alright lad, you gave the script word perfect. Now the truth.”

Potter flinched and scrunched his eyes half way closed. 

“That is the truth, sir.”

That same monotone. Alastor was going to rip those two arseholes into so many pieces when he was through…

“No, it isn’t. Don’t lie to me boy. I’m a wizard, and a police officer. I know when someone tells the truth. They tell you to say that?”

“Magic isn’t real! Freaks are abnormal and should stay in their cupboards!” the kid screeched. Damn it. They weren’t just abusive, they were on their way to making a bloody obscurial.

“Oh yeah, lad. Then what do you call this?”

With a wave of his wand, the door was open. Another wave, and the vase on the nearby table was now a turtle. The walls changed colors through the rainbow, and a series of glowing, colorful bubbles filled the hall. 

“Wow.” The little tyke murmured, staring in wonder. Damn straight. Mad-eye prided himself on the largest knowledge of light-giving charms in the country. Couldn’t bloody well raid a Death Eater stronghold if ya couldn’t see. And lumos was so… basic. Plus, firsties, particularly Hufflepuffs, sometimes needed some extra help gett’n’ ta bed on time when the dorms were new and dark. And sometimes when a raid went wrong, you needed something to lead little’uns to safety while the adults covered the retreat.

“It better be impressive. And you can do that to, some day. So could your mum and pa. Not till you’re older though. But it’s a fickle thing, magic. You wanna do that some day?”

The lad nodded, slack jawed, the trap nice and baited.

“That’s what I thought. Magic’s a part of you after all, jus’ like its a part of me. It wants to be used. But if you live with people who don’t treat ya right, who don’t treat you like a person, you’ll never grow like you need to ta learn. So, do they treat you right? Feed you as much as you want?”

Green eyes searched Moody’s face in the moonlight filtered through glass door panes. Moody stayed still, gave the lad time. He might not have enough proof to stand in court, but Mad-eye Moody generally followed a recue first investigate later approach to abuse cases, damn the consequences. It helped that the entire department agreed with him. 

“You really knew my parents?”

“Of all I said here, that’s what you get? Fine, yes, I knew them. I right pain in my as… tush, your pa. But a good man. Liked to make jokes, lift people’s spirits. O’corse, spirit was something your mum had in spades. Strong woman, that.”

“What was her name?” 

Damn it. Those bastards. Little pieces. Dozens of them. Scattered across the entire island, so nobody could ever put them back together. 

Big eyes in a to-skinny head stared up at Moody.

“Lily. Lily Evans, then Lily Potter when she married your da.”

Thin black eyebrows drew together. “Aunt Petunia said they were drunks.”

Moody growled. Apparently it was frightening, given how the lad inched back to the wall. 

“James and Lily Potter were some of the best people on the… police force. Your ma and pa saved dozens of people from terrorists. They were brave, and strong, and kind. And they were not drunks. While I admit, your father could get a bit… carried away.” A little nose scrunched at that. “And by carried away, I mean have to much fun and make to many bad jokes so your ma had to drag him out by the ear, they were never drunks. And always kind to; never laid a hand on anyone in anger, including each other or you.”

Technically true. Lily would curse James something fierce, but best not bring that up to a kid in a cupboard just yet. 

“So… Aunt Petunia… she lies?” 

The question wasn’t asked like the boy didn’t know the answer. It was like when a healer had to be called for a disturbed witness, checking to see if the person agreed with the asker’s reality. 

“Boy, I’ve never met the woman and I can tell she’s a filthy liar. If only because when she took you in, she put you in a cupboard. Plenty of parents would happily adopt a boy like you, all she had to do was drop you with Services. But if she has you, that tells all the world she’s goona take care of you. Putting you in a damn cupboard isn’t takin’ care of ya.”

A mop of black hair cocked to the side like a bird. 

“Nobody listens. Nobody ever listens.”

“Well, I cant promise I’ll always hear. I’m old, my ears ain’t so good anymore. But I’ll listen.”

“Oh.” The boy, who had inched back to the door of the cupboard, now scooted towards his prior position a tad. 

“And, if you want away from here, I’ll take ya. Can’t guarantee it’ll be all fun and games. I’m an old man, I ain’t got the tolerance young’uns do. But I can get food in yer belly and a proper room set up. I can get ya clothes that fit and an education. I ain’t got much, but ya won’t have to come back here.”

Without warning, a little brunette missile sent the old auror tumbling for the second time that week as Potter dove around Alastor’s waist.

“Yes, I want to leave. I hate it here. Dudley’s mean and I’m always hungry and they hate me and make other people hate me and say I lie even though Dudley’s the liar and a bully…”

Eventually the words turned to incoherent sobbing. Well. Step one over. 

“Come along then. No more of that. Doesn’t do anyone any good. Now, you want to bring anything along?”

Poor kid nodded and dove back into the cupboard for a moment, then came back out with a plastic bag filled with those rags his family called clothes and a few broken toys. It seemed they would have to make a shopping trip soon.

Actually, there was a lot they’d have to do. Shopping for literally everything the kid could need (Moody was a certified foster parent, not that he’d ever used it, but he had a few books on the subject of permanent placements). Plus figuring out where he was going to sleep…

In a moment all of Moody’s concerns, which he’d pushed off over the last week of observing and investigating, came rushing back. How the kid would do with moving every few months. How he was going to get the kid to school. He’d probably need to take a sabbatical… then again, a muggle babysitter with enough warning charms could probably take the kid for an hour or two. Enough that Moody could show up at the office. He snorted internally as he took the lad’s hand and led him from the house. Yes, that would work. Technically if he was taking someone into protective custody, he wasn’t even supposed to report it, based on the old rules. And the brats at the office would probably be happy to see less of Mad-Eye’s ugly mug. 

They reached the street, the lad already shivering in his ripped trainers, and Moody turned to face him. Potter looked, up, the scar inky black against pale skin in the moonlight, and met Alastor’s eyes.

“Now, this is called a side-along.” Alastor instructed. The boy listened intently. “It’s not very fun, but it can get us where we need to go very fast. It might make your stomach a tad upset, and you need to hold on to me tightly. The good news is, we’ll do this once and then be done. Ah! Almost forgot.”

With a few waves of his wand, Mad-eye located and gathered all the documentation he’d need for the lad, plus a few more spells to make it look like the lad had run away. Based on how the family hated the lad, it would probably be some time before Dumbledore would realize his asset was gone. And by then, the magical residue would disappear. He also pulled out his camera, dipped back through the still open door, and took a few photos of the cupboard, for evidence’s sake. 

“Alright Potter, now we’re good to go.”

“Where are we going?” the little boy scowled. Moody realized the lad didn’t trust him yet. Good. Those sorts of instincts would keep him alive.

Then Moody considered where the lad had learned that kind of mistrust, and his own scowl was back. Along with the knowledge that a six year old boy would rather run away because a man who looked like a real-life Frankenstein’s monster told him his mother’s name. Damn it, all those wishes from his twenties about wanting a kid some day were not supposed to wait until now to bite him in the ass! He was too old for this!

But, Alastor knew, better him than those freaks inside number four. 

“My place-well, where I live right now. I’ll probably stay there another few months, depending. You’re welcome to stay with me long as you like.”

The one remaining front tooth worried the lower lip. “Do you have more stories about my mum and dad?”

Alastor smiled just a little, and then stopped himself. With all the scars, his smiles looked more like sneers, and he didn’t want the lad to have the wrong idea. 

“Aye, more your dad than your mum. And I know people who will have more. Can’t go to them to soon, you understand, but eventually I’ll see what I can do about some more stories. Have a few pictures to, if you like.”

“Really?” Potter bounced up and down in the cold night air (no jacket, Moody suddenly realized, what the hell?) tugging on Alastor’s arm painfully.

“Aye. Not many, but I know where to get more. Now, let’s be off. Hold on tight now.”

Little hands wrapped themselves in Moody’s long (but not noticeably out of fashion, because Moody knew how to blend, unlike those damn pureblood idiots that caused so much trouble for obliviators) coat, and before the lad could get nervous, Moody spun on his heal. 

A moment later, the lad was vomiting into the bushes along Moody’s lawn. 

Many who knew Alastor, and his reputation, would be surprised at the abodes he generally chose. A very powerful and complex ward array, that wouldn’t let anyone in without contact with Moody, who had to be un-impiriused, conscious and uncoerced, was the only obvious defense. And, while not a common choice for wards, they were used often enough, normally by more reclusive wizards, that they wouldn’t light up any warnings. Moody had other defenses, of course, such as charmed garden hoses, trash bins, watering cans, garden gnomes, plastic flamingoes, etc., but he’d cleared them out over the last few days, as his subconscious slowly informed his conscious that there was no better solution for the Potter boy. 

The house itself was a small cottage, one story and a large attic. From the outside, it had a fresh coat of whitewash, green shutters, a red door and window frames. Exactly the kind of home an aging bachelor police officer would choose to retire. Small and quiet. 

Of course, the paints were each actually potion lacquers, and every single opening was cursed in some way shape or form, but the point was none of that was visible from the street. 

The lawn was well manicured, and flowerbeds held the last of dying marigolds and rose bushes going into hibernation. The magical plants that used the mundane ones for cover were mostly hibernating as well, waiting for prey to step on the beds so they could activate their carnivorous seed pods. Moody would have to have a talk with the boy about staying out of the flower beds. Maybe an age line of some kind, yes, that made the most sense. Anyone who broke in could still get eaten, but nothing could force Potter over one of Moody’s age lines. 

Once the boy’s stomach settled, Alastor led him up the short cobblestone trail to the door. 

“Now, because I’m a wizard, my house has all kinds of traps. Most of them won’t work on me, because they know this is my house. Tomorrow, I’ll use magic to tell some of the traps you live here to. However, some of the traps have to stay up all the time. So, until I can warn you tomorrow, here’s what you need to know. One, don’t come into the kitchen without me.”

At about that moment, they reached the front door, which Alastor unlocked with a complicated series of wand twitches. He’d have to find a secure way around that later, so the boy could get in and out. That door led into the small parlor, just a chair, couch, low table, and television on a stand. The obligatory fireplace was closed in by an iron grate. 

“There are a few things in the kitchen that I don’t want you to touch until after we talk. Speaking of which, lets get a snack, yeah? I have some soup tucked away, wont take but a moment to heat up.”

Moody led the child, who was clutching that plastic grocery bag like it was all he had (which, of course, it was) into the small kitchen, with slightly outdated but operational appliances and light blue cabinets. Potter nodded the second Mad-eye mentioned food. 

Moody took the few short moments of doling out the soup and magically heating it to consider what to say next. 

“Now, I took the next week off work to get you settled in. After that, I can make arrangements for a babysitter the few times I’ll have to go in.” At the boy’s startled look, Moody started gruffly reassuring. “Just for occasional meetings, probably. I’m old, I have seniority, which means if I can only be there for a few hours, nobody’ll question it. So, any questions, any at all, you come to me. My room’s in the back, through the other door off the parlor. You’ll be up those steps” Moody pointed to the staircase tucked in a corner of the kitchen, “In the attic. It’s finished, and I have a few cots up there, so it should be fine. Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for a few things to make it yours.”

Moody generally didn’t need much in the way of objects. Most things he didn’t have he’d conjure on a temporary basis. Permanence was never a part of his life. But Mad-eye remembered those little firsties from school that clutched their dolls or blankets in sleep enough to know kids needed it. Potter would have to move with Mad-eye, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some things to make whatever room he had his own. Also, the boy needed some damn clothes that fit. 

The boy seemed to be processing, so Moody let it be as they each finished their soup, although the lad ate far less than Alastor would have liked. He’d have to refresh himself on how to work a malnutrition case up to eating properly. 

Dishes quickly scourgified and put away, Moody grabbed the sleepy child’s hand and led him up the steps. The attic was designed as an emergency haven for any allies or civilians, should Moody ever need to use it. As such, it held a few cots and little else. 

“Like I said, we’ll make it yours tomorrow.”

Potter (Moody couldn’t tell if he was just naturally quiet or overtired) climbed into a cot half way down the room, with a view of the two windows and the stairs. Moody approved. 

“Alright then. You have your bag, yeah? Good. Keep it with you for now. You need a night light spell?”

The little head cocked again, before a “Yes please sir” so quiet Moody barely heard it came out. 

“Alright then, what kind? An animal-shaped one? Stars on the ceiling? Colored light balls like before?” 

Green eyes widened every time Moody mentioned a spell. 

“Um… the one from before please.”

Moody nodded like it was some serious decision. “Good choice.”

Spell cast, glass of water Moody had brought tucked on a crate beside the cot, Moody left the boy to his rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter was a monster. I ended up expanding it so many times...
> 
> This is the first time I think I've gotten so deep into writing a character with such distinct vocal cues. How did I do? I wasn't sure how to attack the issue. I have a habit of taking on the accent of a character in whatever I'm reading that I particularly identify with. So when I'm reading something where the character I identify with the most has a southern United States accent, I start to mimic that verbally. To the point where I actually got a bunch of comments on it years ago, and had to consciously stop doing it verbally, although the changes in how I think can still last weeks (darn Rayla on Dragon Prince is the current bane of my existence). So I tried to just put myself in the "Moody" mindset, old codger who doesn't care for anyone else's opinions and wants to be seen as powerful but cooky. I came out with this. The dialect isn't very consistent, but I tried to do that on purpose. I know my own accent changes with a bunch of variables, so I tried to put the deeper "Moody" voice correlating to what would make my own accent get more pronounced, as opposed to the accent I tend to take when I'm being formal. Simultaneously, I also tend to make my accent more pronounced on purpose when I'm talking to little kids, because I've noticed they pay more attention when you modulate your accent to be different from what they're used to hearing (and while my natural accent isn't very distinct to people in my area, I've practiced some different cues for the more pronounced local accents and forced myself to use them for a while when I was a teen to the point I can flip which accent I'm thinking in). So I tried to get Moody to mimic that behavior to.
> 
> Constructive Criticism welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

Kim’s Dojo in downtown London was holding an exhibition day. A line of parents wound up the two flights of stairs in the old building to reach the small studio that rested above a law office, which was in turn above a wedding dress boutique. The walls were a tad cracked, the wooden floors worn, and the heaters rattled. 

All of this was tolerated by the parents, however. Sensei Kim was one of the best martial arts instructors in the city, and counted four Olympic athletes among his students. He was also one of the few instructors who diversified his training, teaching children a combination of British boxing, Ju Jitsu, Tia Kwon Do, Karate, along with things like knife throwing. It was because of this that Kim’s clients fell into two categories; children who were legitimately good athletes and needed superior instruction, and children who needed some serious self-defense training. Kim also offered private lessons during school hours, which were prefered by the homeschooled contingent. 

Alastor Moody had been seen by the various patrons before. Both he and his… ward? Son? Grandson? Nobody had ever talked to the man to find out. Anyways, both the boy and gentleman were quiet and kept to themselves. Didn’t cause trouble, but the kid was flying through katas and belts faster than almost any other student. 

Most of what the other parents knew was based on observation and rumors. The various scars, combined with the prosthetic leg and eyepatch, led most parents to believe the man either a criminal of some kind or a veteran with some significant experience. The parents with military experience of their own noted how the man cased the room, and how he made the limp much more pronounced than would be expected with an amputation so low on the thigh. However, a mob boss or some other criminal would be unlikely to go unnoticed with such striking, identifiable features and no bodyguards. Therefore, the consensus was, the man was a veteran. And clearly, not the social sort. 

Most days when parents and Mr. Moody came in to contact, they’d give him his space out of respect. However, this was the largest exhibition Kim held each year, and room was tight. So, a few of the veteran parents made a point of surrounding the twitchier members of the small community, including Mr. Moody, allowing their elder to take the front row, in deference to his height. 

Mad-Eye, meanwhile, smirked internally. So much simpler, walking amongst muggles. Left each other alone, they did. Like now, with all the experienced, antisocial men (and one or two women) taking a corner to themselves while the women folk (and a good number of men) twittered on about gossip a few feet over. 

Alastor watched as the exhibition began, and worked hard to keep the scowl off as Potter worked through his spar. The lad was learning fast, only out of his relative’s care for six months and already much healthier. With proper food, the lad shot up like a weed, although he’d likely never be particularly tall. Alastor could sympathize. The lad was still shy, but that was alright. Shy people knew to keep their mouths shut and listen to the world around them. Schooling was a bit of an issue, but muggles had plenty of books on homeschooling, and the lad was learning at his level. Wich was good, as it left time for other things. Like combat training. 

Moody had ever so slowly relaxed his vigilance over the past few months, for the lad’s sake. It was one thing for Moody, an experienced auror, to live that way, moving every two moons and covered in wards so thick it felt like a weighted blanket was encased in a few constrictors all trying to strangle you alive, but it was the worst thing for a child, constantly looking over his shoulder. No, the thing the lad needed most was a sense of safety, and Mad-eye indevoured to provide that. Alastor made it look, to all the world, like he’d moved a few months ago, all the while putting up a new ward scheme on the cottage to keep wizards away. And just because vigilance needed to be constant, didn’t mean there weren’t levels of vigilance. Moody taught the boy to channel his wariness into casing a room. To convert his instinct to flinch into an instinct to dive for cover. Moody had games for the boy, like water balloon fights, that taught reflexes and strategy. Board games to teach planning ahead. The works. The lad was probably the most well trained seven year old in wizarding Britain when it came to wandless self-defense (modern magical society’s wand dependency was one of the many reasons Moody despised the rabble). But the bar for seven year olds wasn’t particularly high, and the lad had a long way to go before Moody would consider him safe.

Hence the training. Potter took to it like a duck to water, his quick reactions serving well. And it was a good way for the lad to make friends, which Moody knew he’d need. Alastor knew his own social skills left something to be desired, and the last thing he wanted to attract was Lily’s undead wrath for letting her son be the same. Between the martial arts lessons and the ballet (great way to increase balance and control, that), and anyone he met for the few hours a week with the local woman who watched any neighborhood children for a small fee (widow, in her fourties, three teenagers to put through school) the boy was making enough acquaintances that Alastor wasn’t worried. Of course, the fact that he ran background checks on every one of those aquaintences and their families might have had something to do with it.  
As the lower belts finished up their demonstrations and tests, and the more experienced lads and lasses took to the mats, Alastor mentally reviewed the last few months. The first two weeks were the hardest, the lad constantly flinching and trying to please. But little kids were resilient when it came to their mind, and all the lad needed were consistent rules that gave him room to grow. For the first month, Potter hadn’t gone anywhere without Moody by his side, except for a short one-hour stint with his minder, Mrs. Merkle. The lad blossomed under the woman’s occasional tuition, finally putting that agile mind to work without his oaf of a cousin to destroy his confidence. 

Of course, it was just as the lad got settled the problems started. 

First it was the attempt to get Potter enrolled in a school. Milton Elementary, about two streets from Moody’s cottage, had called home within a week because Potter had been in a fight. The lad came home bruised and bloody, refused to discuss what happened, and with a week suspension. 

After that, Moody had called it all off and taken to home-schooling the lad, wich he probably should have done in the first place. In all honesty, Moody was such a wreck when he tried to go into the office that week Harry went to school he’d accidentally broken a time turner (although that was on the Unspeakables for carrying it around with so little defenses), cursed three people form the floo office (they should have listened to the trainees and set the notices about overusing the office floos on his desk, and not snuck up behind him, the fools), sent no less than five people in the office home crying (although whether the cheeting-on-my-wife-is-fine-as-long-as-I-get-her-pregnant-before-any-of-my-mistresses-who-arent-even-purebloods-and-so-don’t-even-count-Bartholemue-Umbrage counts as a person could be debated, the git, wich reminded Alastor, the laxitave potion had probably worn off by now, maybe he should curse all the chairs in the office to make farting noises whenever the git sat down next?...)

Where was he? Ah, yes, the antics at the office. Suffice to say, Potter wasn’t the only one taking some “mandated vacation time” by the end of that week. Luckily, the office antics made everyone more than pleased when Alastor passed on taking another apprentice from the new round of trainees, as a trainee would mean being around the office more, and gave Alastor a good excuse to be seen less. The only one who would probably notice would be Bones, and given the woman had been encouraging retirement since the war ended “for his own health… and also to lower the amount of paperwork the Department of Finance needs to deal with so everything you ‘modify’ gets replaced”, she’d likely just be happy to go a few days without one of Alastor’s random office-wide scrying device sweeps. 

So Alastor went in for perhaps a quarter of his actually contractually-obligated work week, and Potter either spent those hours with Merkle or here, for combat practice. Alastor had eventually gotten an explanation of the fight (Potter had caught a fat blond boy pulling on the pigtails of a girl with glasses, which Alastor would have reacted to about the same when he was a wee’un). Unfortunately, the other boy (who was kept a close eye on, and caught steeling lunch money from another student a few days later when his shoe laces spontaneously tied themselves as he tried to run away before the teacher turned the corner) came out the less injured of the two. Hence Harry’s immediate enrollment in defense classes.

As the exhibition wrapped up with the final boxing matches, Alastor gave a brief nod to his silent neighbors and braced his knee for the incoming missile.

“Grandpa! Did you see!? Did you see?” the human torpedo asked, just as scripted. Unfortunate downside of the boy gaining weight, his running tackles had even more force behind them. 

“Aye lad.” Alastor said as the twittering gossips went silent. “You did well. Except that one match.”

Potter frowned a little and picked at his new belt. “I know. His kick came out of nowhere.”

“It didn’t come out of nowhere, it came from his leg. You gotta watch for that, next time.” Moody lightly scolded. Potter hung his head. “Hey now, none o’ that. That’s why we practice, it is, learn what the mistakes are so we can do better next time, aye?” Potter nodded. “Good. Now, I think that went well enough for an ice-cream run, and then, I have a bit of a surprise for you.”

Eyes sparkling at the mention of a treat and shame forgotten, Potter started bouncing. “Really? Can I have two scoops?”

Asking for food was something Potter hadn’t done over the first five months, so Alastor made a point to say yes more than he didn’t. The lad had to know his needs would be met, and questions never punished. 

“Aye, I think that sounds fair. Come along.”

By the end of the week, the entire network of dojo clients would know that the old veteran was raising his poor grandson. And that was well and good; everybody on the wizard side knew Potter’s grandparents were wiped out in the war. Word the boy disappeared hadn’t gotten out yet. Alastor didn’t know if Albus noticed the boy was gone, let alone that he’d taken Potter. If Alastor had his way, the old man wouldn’t know for another four years. Still, having a backup cover would help. With Moody’s reputation, nobody would be surprised if he had a secret bastard out there, a half-blood squib who’s wizard son Mad-eye now raised. The cover might never be needed, but just in case, having witnesses to attest the relationship couldn’t hurt. Neither would the skin dying potions Alastor put in the boy’s soap to make the skin tone closer to the scar color, and the bit of makeup to hide his identity. The eyes were still recognizable, but there was no safe way to disguise them on a child so young. Which was why Mad-eye kept the boy to the muggle world, just in case.

When the lad finished his sweet treat from the shop down the street, Alastor helped him into the car (yes, Moody knew how to drive one, great for shaking of wizard tails).

“Where are we going?”

“A surprise. Change out of those white things and into the clothes I left back there.” Moody instructed. Harry knew the tone of an order well enough to do so first. 

The drive to Godrick’s Hollow wasn’t long, but as they got closer, Moody felt himself slowing. He’d found the lad a few weeks after Halloween, too late for an anniversary visit. That was a bad idea anyways. To many people in the graveyard on a day like that. He had considered Potter’s birthday (the dead one, not the kid), but the lad still hadn’t been asking questions at the time, and Mad-eye wasn’t sure he had enough trust for the kid to feel safe. The next opportunity that made sense was Harry’s birthday, but that was a ways away, and Moody wanted to get this over with sooner rather than later. 

He parked on a side street and the lad hopped out, stuffed dog in hand. The boy had found it in the store when they went out that first night after the retrieval (Moody never called it a rescue, made it to comparable to far to many bad war memories). The dog was small, not quite small enough to fit in a pocket, and black and shaggy. The lad rarely went anywhere without it. 

Some of the books Alastor picked up said he was too old for that sort of thing, but others said it was normal for a child to have some comforting object. Alastor would know nothing about that of course. (He certainly didn’t have a crochet blanket from his grandmother tucked away at home. Of course not. That sort of silly sentiment was for the young’uns.) But Moody figured the lad had plenty of time before Hogwarts to process the past, and if a palm-sized stuffed dog helped him do that, who was Moody to say no. Of course, the doll was also enchanted to grow and attack on command, but the boy didnt need to know that bit. 

"C'mon lad, this way." Moody grunted. Harry grabbed at the side of the auror’s coat and followed. 

“I don’t like this.” The lad muttered quietly. He was looking around with a strange face, and shivering slightly against Moody’s hip (the lad always walked on his bad side, and had caught his guardian after a stumble a time or two). 

Alastor stopped on the sidewalk, and bent his remaining knee as far as he dared without actually kneeling. “Now lad, I understand. Lot’s o’ bad memories here. But we let those control us, and we’ll never do what we came for.”

“Do we have to see the surprise here though? Can’t we go somewhere else?” the lad wined, green eyes going round. Alastor was pretty sure the lad didn’t consciously know why they were there, but even a hundred feet away from the house, Alastor could feel it. Like the world wasn’t quite right, or a breeze was going in the wrong direction. Things seemed to get greyer the closer they were, and both more colorful and darker farther away, and the entire area felt like the sea before one entered the wards around Azkaban. The world wasn’t quite... sad… but you knew it could be at a moment’s notice. It made the joy, and the singing birds, and the rustling trees all the grander, but that greatness was edged with the primal knowledge it could be torn apart in a moment.

Moody scowled down at Potter. “No, the surprise has to stay here. Come along now.”

Harry, clearly not wanting to be left behind, followed, although he tugged even harder at Mad-eye’s coat when they opened the creaky gate into the graveyard. The lad let out a small whimper, so Alastor made sure to put a hand on his shoulder, hopefully to calm him some. He didn’t stop though, and eventually the pair made it to the relatively new pair of stones in the back of the graveyard. They stood there, staring, for several minutes, one half of the broken family looking at the other, before the lad started to sniffle.

“Now lad, what’d I say about tears.”

“They block your eyesight and make vision blurry. If I’m gonna cry, best do it in private and with someone to watch my back just in case. I’m t-trying but it’s h-hard.”

With a heavy sigh, and mental recriminations for his own stupidity, Alastor summoned a blanket, and spread it on the ground across the headstones. 

“Aye, and that’s true. So we’re in private, or we will be once I put up that silencing ward, and you have me to watch your back. Go ahead, get it done.”

The little shoulders (although not as little as they were six months ago) shook a little as the left hand clenched and the right worried the stuffed dog’s tail. 

“I don’t, um, I don’t know what to do.”

That. That Moody got. He’d never seen the point of gravesites himself, but Alastor knew he wasn’t a startling example of mental health. 

“Well, I hear you talk to ‘em.”

The little boy snorted. A good proper snort, filled with incredulous disbelief and distain and impertinence, just like Alastor had taught him. A good snort, or scowl, or leering smile could be more efficient than words in the right hands. 

“Aye, never understood it myself. But I hear it helps. And you need to have come here at least once, before you head of to school. Won’t have those fuddyduddys think they know best calling me a failure.”

The next ten minutes or so were silent, except for chirping crickets and birds. Two crows landed on a nearby fencepost for a moment, cawing at each other indignantly, before flying off again. 

“They aren’t here.” The lad finally spoke up.

“Aye lad? Ya think so?”

Potter nodded, and turned to show a face that was dry of tears. 

“Yeah. I think… I think there isn’t anything special about this place. Maybe they were here, before, but they aren’t now. And… I don’t think… I don’t think they’d want me to be either.”

Moody wondered what the lad thought he meant. His parents wouldn’t want him to visit their grave? Alastor doubted that. Lily had been at a few auror funerals in the war, she always seemed the sentimental sort. But the boy might believe it. Lad never knew her, not really, after all. Or could he mean that they would want him alive? Far more sense from the adult’s perspective, that, but Moody doubted the boy was anywhere near depressed enough for that to make sense.

Regardless, the lad seemed to want a response.

“Then far be it for me to go against your parent’s wishes.”

And they left the empty stones behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, sorry I'm a few days late. Something really good happened IRL, but as with all surprises, it took a couple of days to deal with, and since it was a surprise, I didn't have this chapter ready to post if I knew what was coming. Take an extra long chapter as an apology.
> 
> Second, I've talked about this commenting on other people's stuff, but never on my own, but I had a really bad run of things for the past two years or so. And one of the things I had to confront about myself over that time period is that I'm not "normal". I hate funerals. I hate anything to do with a person being dead. My defense mechanism is acting like nothing's wrong until my subconscious has processed what happened so my conscious can fall apart on it's own without my subconscious joining in. Which I can't do when I have no choice but to go to funerals and graves and can't even turn the topic to funny or happy things to ease the tension/sadness because that "isn't appropriate". So I get mad, and people get snapped at, and suddenly I'm evil incarnate for causing a problem because people are trying to make me sad so hard it makes me angry instead and using any outlet for that is "not respectful".
> 
> But the thing is, I'm surrounded by people who don't think like I do. And while those closest try to be supportive, I don't think they get it. They've made pretty clear they don't think I'm less of a person for it, but they have made clear that A) they don't understand and B) I'm expected to act like I grieve "the normal way" in front of other people or I will reflect badly on everyone around me. This is exacerbated by the fact that some people around me have very clear, present and outspoken problems with the way other people around me grieve, and "unhealthy" practices like getting wrapped up in sorrow or picking up a project instead of processing. 
> 
> One writer in particular on AO3, MuffinLance, wrote a really great piece about Avatar the Last Air Bender called Towards the Sun that's all about Zuko grieving the loss of his family and his childhood and what he should have had but never will because other people made bad choices. Just thinking about it can make me cry (or laugh, depending on how evil Muffin's been on her Tumbler lately). That fic was actually one of the main ones that motivated me to start writing, hoping it would help me cope and process a few things, after her fic helped me do just that. And now, almost a year later, I finally felt secure enough to start venting some of my feelings about all this mess, so when I decided to put "Harry visits his parent's grave" in the outline, the entire fic went form "fun little what-if" to "selenaquana's therapy piece about people's stupidity, happy endings, and the awesomeness of weirdness". 
> 
> Which is all to say I'm sorry if this chapter isn't great, constructive criticism appreciated and all that, but this is my catharsis party and this thing already helped me process some seriously messed up stuff so sorry if my emotional train-wreck isn't quite well written but it made me feel better so goal achieved.


	4. Chapter 4

Amelia Bones stormed up the stairs, walked down the short hallway before ascending another flight. Storming, she had learned early in her career, was a very effective tool. Particularly when one was on the shorter side for a wizard. Even more so when one was a woman in a man’s field. Even greater a tool when one was a woman in charge of a Department of Law Enforcement. And most importantly, storming was a great tool when used against brilliant, narcissistic control freaks who thought they ran the country just because they took out some dark wanker they used to screw in Godrick’s Hollow. (Yes, she knew that bit of gossip. Very few people who’d ever consulted with Baggshot didn’t. A miracle that little fun fact didn’t make its way into her published works.)

Amelia’s storming was complimented by an angry scowl, a skill she’d perfected as Moody’s first apprentice, before the scaring got to bad and it looked like he was frozen that way. She wondered, occasionally, what the younger aurors at the office would think if she told them about the smiling, brotherly (if overprotective) young man who’d trained her. She could barely believe they were the same. Although Moody had been changing over the last… year, perhaps? Not pulling 3-day shifts at the office, conspiracy boards noticeably un-updated. If Amelia (and the entire world) didn’t know any better, she’d think he had a girlfriend or something on the side. But, Moody had worked illegal amounts of overtime in the years before, and he was still the best for his ability to glance at a case file and find fifteen new leads, if not all his other skills, so she tolerated him mostly doing paperwork from home these days.

Of course, without Mad-eye glaring through walls and shooting hexes at any dawdling trainees, Amelia had to step up her own observation of her underlings. Which had led to a good deal of practice in both scowling and storming. Convenient, as she needed a good deal of both to get through a meeting like this one without going off on someone in an uncontrolled manner (as opposed to the entirely controlled anger she used as a weapon against twinkly-eyed politicians).

When she reached the gargoyle, the head of the DMLE just increased her scowl and tapped her foot a single time. The stone construct flinched out of the way, and she took the rotating stairs two at a time. 

The headmaster’s office, Amelia noted, was noticeably disheveled. Not that the place was ever truly tidy, but she would expect fewer papers scattered about so soon after the school year ended. 

“Ah, Amelia, my girl. Do come…”

“Can it Albus. What do you want.” She snapped, halting the movement of the candy dish mid-offer with a single finger and pushing the lemon drops, along with the hand offering them, to the desk. 

A long, bereaved sigh was emitted. 

“Ah, haste. The proclivity of the young.”

Amelia gave a Moody-level snort and thanked the Spirits she’d been trained by the most insufferable man on the planet. Made dealing with all the other asshats pale in comparison.

“Answers, Albus. Now. I have a dragon-smuggling ring to investigate.”

Albus leaned back in his chair, twinkle noticeably absent. Huh. 

“Well, I suppose this is an act of smuggling I need your help with. Finding the smuggler, rather, although they took something far more important than a few dragons.”

“Oh? Someone misplaced all Muggle Britain’s candy?”

Dumbledore stoked his beard. “No, no, nothing so benign as that. It is Harry Potter, you see, who has… well...”

Amelia forced every muscle not related to speech to go still. “Harry. Potter. You misplaced Harry Potter.”

Albus flinched a bit in his throne-like chair. Actually quailed a bit, then rallied. 

“Well, not quite. You see, I had him placed with some relatives on his mother’s side.”

Oh Lord no. Amelia knew the man was incompetent, but a magical child. One with at least a hundred terrorists after his head. With. Muggles. Who likely wouldn’t know how to protect a child from a stunner, let alone AK’s.

“I put Arabella Figg in the vicinity to keep an eye out.”

So he put a squib on security detail. Mind, they could be rather useful, Amelia had several squibs in the department’s employ. Not as versatile as wizards, but put them with a wizard partner for cases that crossed worlds and you could make a crack team. But one squib. An old one. With no backup. On a security detail.

That was it. Next election for chief warlock, she’d vote for almost anyone else. She was close to Edward Abbott, and wondered if his father would be willing to run again…

“But it seems she rather lost track of the boy.”

Oh yes, put all the blame on the squib. Not on the idiot sorcerer who thought that was sufficient protection, no. Albus Dumbledore doesn’t make mistakes.

He was apparently waiting for a response as he chewed on one of those sour lemon things. 

“Where.” She demanded curtly

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow. 

“Pardon?”

“Where. Are. The. Relatives. Living.”

“Ah, well, you see, the protections I placed and assurances I gave them…”

“Albus. Address. Or I bring you up on obstruction charges.”

The damn twinkle was back.

“Now, Miss Bones, do you really think…”

“I think you lost the wizarding world’s savior. I think I need to start an investigation. I think that I need all the information to do that. Now. Where was he seen last? By whom? Where was he living? Who knew of his placement? What security was in place? Details, Albus. Now.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Two days later, Amelia Bones took a long swig from the bottle of firewiskey in her office and waited for it to take care of the pounding headache as she stared at the reports in front of her. Nothing. They had nothing.

It didn’t help that the trail was months cold. Or that they found evidence of abuse, between the cupboard and the school nurse’s records and the teacher’s interviews. Hell, Bones doubted anyone took the lad at this point. Such insufferable people as caregivers. Who’d want to stay. 

With none of the leads heading anywhere, and the entire department in a tizzy, word that Potter was missing would get out. Amelia already had PR and legal working on covering the department’s asses. Honestly, how were they supposed to know anything about the boy with his safety put in Dumbledore’s hands? It was one of Crouch’s last acts as DMLE head, and therefore ignored in favor of her predecessor’s disgrace.

The door creaked open, and Amelia quickly disillusioned the bottle. Drinking on the job was the one hypocrisy she allowed herself, and she refused to get caught. 

“Bones.” Alastor grunted as he took the chair across the desk, magical eye scanning the room and wand counting out spells. 

“Moody. Now you show up to work.” She grunted right back.

Alastor’s eyes flickered with… something, Amelia couldn’t tell what. 

“Aye. About that. I hear rumor the Potter boy disappeared.”

Amelia crinkled her own eyes. That was far to casual.

“You know something.”

“I know a lot of things. Be a bit more specific.”

“You know something about the Potter case.”

Moody smiled his proud mentor’s grin. “What gave it away?”

“You sat down. If you didn’t have anything you’d stand.”

Alastor nodded. “And I’ve been asking you how you could tell when I was hiding something for years. You actually answered. You’re worried.”

“Worried.” Amelia snorted, before reaching for the disillusioned bottle and swigging. She offered it to Moody, who shook his head but pulled from his own flask. “Worried. A boy is missing, has been for months, nobody reported… tell me whatever you have is good, Mad-eye. It’ll be my job if it isn’t.”

Alastor nodded along. 

“Aye. Question for ya. Who do ya think took him?”

Bones scowled. Moody wouldn’t answer a question with a question unless he knew the answer. “I doubt it was anyone of ill intent. No curse traces at the house, no reports of strange people around that time. None that we can confirm anyways. And the wards Dumbledore placed are very specific. The only way the boy could have left was of his own will.”

Mad-eye started a bit at that. “Really. Impressive. Glad I didn’t just levitate the lad out.” he muttered under his breath, but continued before Amelia was even done processing the statement. “So, he left of his own will. Anyone check if he was alone when that happened?”

“Yes, but it was so long ago…”

Wait. Levitated him out.

Amelia unholstered her wand under her desk and lined it up with the invisible hole that would allow her to curse someone sitting across from her. It was unlikely Mad-eye wouldn’t notice, but there was always a chance he wouldn’t look.

“Alastor. Explain. Now.”

The old geezer actually grinned at her. 

“There ya go. Figured it out, did ja? I found the boy… a little over a year ago now. Being abused something awful by those damn muggles. But something smelled fishy. He wasn’t registered as placed by Magical Children’s Services. Dumbledore wouldn’t give any intel on the lad. Said he was well cared for when I asked. Low and behold, he even had a watcher on the street. And yet, Albus did nothing. 

“I figured there were some pretty intense protections on the property. But… well. A child doesn’t just need physical safety to grow up well. I wasn’t about to leave the lad there like Albus did. So I asked the lad if he wanted to leave, and he said yes. Walked right out the door besides me, been living at my place in protective custody ever since.”

Amelia put her head on the desk. Hard. Several times. 

“Alastor, you can’t just kidnap a child, let alone Harry Potter…”

“Article fifty-five of the Wartime Allowances Act gave me and any auror of similar experience at the time of it’s passing the right to move any person I deem in mortal danger from Death Eaters to protective custody without any approval or paperwork, so long as the person in question agrees. I asked the lad if he felt safe, he didn’t. I asked him if he wanted to leave with me, he did. Legally, the lad qualifies.”

Amelia glared at her former mentor. “We aren’t at war anymore.”

Alastor glared right back. “Then why’s the lad so important?”

“He’s a symbol of hope…”

“And why do we need that?”

“People are still nervous…”

“Oh cut the crap Bones.” Moody banged his staff on the floor like a gavel. “You’ve heard the same rumblings I have. That he’s not gone. That he’ll come back. If the war was really over, we would have bounced back. The black markets would be back to business as usual, but they aren’t. It’s like the whole world’s been holding it’s breath for years.

“I scanned the boy multiple times over the past year, and you know what I found? Traces of _his_ “ putting extra emphasis so there could be no doubt what evil bastard he meant, ”magic, still active. He’s out there Bones. I know it. You know it. Albus knows it. And the kid’s some kind of weapon to the old man.

“Well I won’t have it. The lad might be a bit shy, but he’s a good kid. I haven’t put all this effort in just so that Albus can make the lad another piece on the board. No grandson of mine is a pawn. Not to Albus. Not to the ministry. Not to Voldemort. Not while I still breath.”

Amelia sheathed her wand and examined Moody. That certainly put the change of behavior in perspective. The constant absence. The refusal of a new trainee. The lower case load, but increased paperwork. And he called the boy his grandson… 

Well, she supposed he was, in a way. Moody never stopped looking after his old apprentices, and while she was close enough to his age to be a younger sister, Potter might have been more like a son. And with Potter’s own father gone in a raid… Well. There was a reason Crouch put Potter and Black under Moody. He likely hoped one or the other would flop out. But Moody was the one that took Potter from boy to man, Amelia had watched it happen in between the firefights and funerals. 

“Alright then. I believe you. But.” She held up a finger to stop Moody from continuing. “I want to see him, ensure he’s alright.”

“Aye.”

“I want quarterly reports.”

“Aye.”

“Dumbledore hears nothing of this.”

“Aye.”

“I’ll tell the public Potter was found and secretly placed with a magical guardian. I’ll have that title transferred to you. You still have that foster parent paperwork up to date?”

“Aye. Muggle and Magical.”

“Good. And I don’t want him holed up in whatever bunker you’re staying in. He’s a kid, he needs to see the sun. Go out. In the muggle world if you don’t trust the magical.”

Moody smirked. “I am well known, I’ll have you hear, in my local community as an upstanding citizen raising his poor orphaned grandson. Homeschooling him and everything.”

Bones grinned cheekily, prior angst forgotten.

“Wow. Never thought I’d see the great Alastor Moody gone soft.”

Moody’s smile fell. “It ain’t soft to have something to protect Bones. If it was, I’d have bothered you to hand little Susan off to someone else. Looking after someone, it makes us stronger it does. We’re aurors, it’s what we do.”

That made… a lot of sense, actually. Moody took more trainees than anyone else, this last year was actually his longest time without one in decades. If he thought taking care of someone made a person stronger…

“Alastor.” She stopped him just as he turned the knob. “How much of the gruff paranoid thing is an act?”

The old auror smirked. “What act woman! I’m not paranoid, just practical! If you don’t get that, you aren’t paying attention! Need to be more VIGILANT!”

And then he swooped out of the room (how the hell did a man with that significant a limp swoop that quickly?), startled several people in the process, and left Amelia to her thoughts. 

A peace that lasted for about a nanosecond before Shacklbolt walked in. “Ma’am, I know everyone’s up in arms over the Potter case, but I just found out while we were investigating that, those smugglers got over a dozen eggs into Hoggsmede…”

And there was the headache again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So good news... I just finished writing this fic! Wich is great, because I just had another idea that could be super fun, and another one I started a while ago but want to finish at some point...
> 
> This is actually the first thing I've ever written that I've finished! It'll be between 20000 and 25000 words long and 11 chapters by the end. 
> 
> Updates will continue biweekly on Saturday, but I wanted to post this early to celebrate!
> 
> As a recommendation, I just caught up to Back in Black by IHateCheddar, which is a really interesting fic that pulls apart one of my problems with the HP canon. Find it at; 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/20264176/chapters/48031534


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its Saturday somewhere, right?

Alastor sat at a corner table in his favorite pub, where he had a clear line of sight out the windows to the street, door, behind the bar, and through the window that showed the kitchen, awaiting his appointment. 

It was the summer of 1989, and Harry had been with Alastor for three years now, despite how quickly the time seemed to go. The lad was growing nicely, strong although Alastor doubted he’d ever be very tall. He rarely had nightmares, asked a good many questions, which Alastor encouraged, and was taking advantage of the early wand use waver Bones had given him to get up to a moderate amount of mischief. All the appropriate kind, of course. The lad was no James Potter when it came to pranking, but could pull off a few surprises if given the chance. Of course, he’d never caught Alastor, but his skills in hiding the pranks, sneaking, and making backup plans were improving. The lad was also into second year spellwork material. Harry Potter was no Rowena Ravenclaw, but in terms of raw magical instincts and power, the boy was a prodigy. Alastor was just glad he’d gotten there before the damn muggles could beat it out of him.

But, as the lad’s curiosity increased, so did his questions about his parents. Alastor had given Harry all the stories he could, and Bones had chipped in during her regular visits, but that didn’t make up for the holes in the lad’s life. More and more often after dance or karate, Harry would stare longingly at the other families for a few moments before blinking and acting like nothing happened. And if Alastor’s eye saw the stuffed doll, tucked in a side pocket of the lad’s gym bag, where it could be easily reached for in such moments… well, Alastor knew some things his magical eye saw were best left unspoken.

But still, the lad needed more. And when the lad needed something, Alastor did what he could to provide it. When the lad seemed to need a female role model and his old babysitter had moved away, Moody asked Bones to step in and lend a hand. And now that the lad needed to know more of his parents, Moody was going to the best source of information he had. 

Lupin looked verifiably ill when he walked in, hair prematurely grey and eyes dull. His muggle clothes were patched and worn, and he could probably use a good meal or two. The werewolf gave a brief sniff so subtle nobody who wasn’t looking would see it before zeroing in on the corner. 

“Evening, Mad-eye.” The werewolf muttered. 

“Evening Lupin.” He replied.

The men sat in silence as their drinks and meals were brought (Moody had already ordered for Lupin, and payed as well, so the werewolf couldn’t refuse). Moody liked that about Lupin, as he’d found on many stakeouts back in the order days. The man was good at quiet, but knew how to observe. 

But, no matter how good Lupin was, Moody was better. The younger man broke first. 

“Alright Moody, what’s this about?”

Moody smirked (which, it should be noted, looked like a scowl to anyone that wasn’t Harry or Amelia. Convenient, that, made messing with trainees easier. Not that he’d had one in a while. Had to be a patrolling auror to do that. Maybe once the lad went to Hogwarts though…)

“What, no guesses? Never go into a meeting without intel Lupin. How many times I have to tell you constant vigilance.”

“Constant vigilance,” Lupin muttered along. A few nearby diners looked over, even though there was a privacy ward up. Lupin went red. Moody smirked again. 

“You have a job right now?” he asked the young man, sipping from the ever-present flask.  
Lupin scowled. “I don’t need charity, Mad-eye.”

“Didn’t say you did. You heard the rumors about me?”

Lupin’s palor lessened a shade, and a chuckle came out as he replied, “Mad-eye Moody’s half-retired?”

Moody glared. It was a very good one, to judge by Lupin’s reaction.

“Not that. I’m not an idiot. Know there are rumors about my kid.”

Because of course there were. When his habit of working from home was acknowledged by Bones, all sorts of stories circulated. Then when that Skeeter bitch followed him around in the muggle world a year before, word that he was “frequenting locations where muggle children congregate” got around. (Of course, she conveniently ignored that this was always in the company of a particular young boy. Clearly she didn’t get to close though, although Alastor had no idea how she did it. Otherwise, that article would have just talked about his secret grandson outright.) To avoid extra scrutiny on his behavior, he and Bones agreed to take the boy on a few public outings in the wizarding world (skin darkened through a combination of magical and muggle means, and hair covering the forehead for extra concealment). While it wasn’t exactly common, he wasn’t the first old wizard to have a magical grandchild pop out of the woodwork. Every once in a while, somebody got a lady of the night knocked up, and the magic would skip a few generations before the magical child showed back up. A month of whispers about his secret love affair and dead squib son made the rounds at the office before everyone moved on and forgot about it.

Every once in a while, Moody would take Harry into Diagon or Hogsmede, both to keep up appearances and get the lad adjusted to being vigilant amongst the sights, sounds and chaos of public wizarding spaces. 

Remus, ignorant of the complicated history there, quirked an eyebrow. “Rumor has it he-or she- is dead.”

Moody nodded. “My grandson’s parents are gone, aye, as are both his grandmothers. So he got stuck with me. But, well. Things are stirring, and I’m needed back on the force. And the lad needs a tutor, plus someone to look after him in the times I can’t be there.”

“You want me, a-“ the man looked around for listeners (as if Moody didn’t have silencing spells up, ye of little faith) and lowered his voice “werewolf, as a babysitter?”

“No.” Moody grunted. “How’s your occlumency?”

Lupin was taken aback. “Occlumency? Why?”

Moody took a long drag from the cup in front of him, rather than the flask. Lupin, apparently realizing Alastor had eaten and drunk foods not prepared by himself directly, gaped. “Because, Lupin, I want you to meet the kid at least. But I aint gonna take you back to where he is without knowing you’ll keep it secret from everyone.”

Lupin took a swig of his own. “Don’t you worry that might not be the best thing for a child? Growing up so…”

“Paranoid?” Moody asked. Lupin nodded. “Maybe. But… well, how good is that occlumency?”

Lupin, apparently frustrated, gave in. “I’m out of practice, but I can probably still hold of a moderate attack. I’d need to get back into the swing of it to hold of anyone like Dumbledore, but who can do that easily?”

Moody considered. Not the best, but Lupin was likely to be… highly motivated, once Alastor showed him. 

“Alright then, up with you.” and he started limping his way to the alley behind the pub. 

“Wait, where…. Damn it.” The sound of a scraping chair was followed by a stubbed toe as Lupin hurried after. 

“Come along, boy. Got places to be.”

Lupin rounded the corner at a light jog. “Where are you…”

He didn’t have a chance to finish as Moody apparated them. Once. Twice. Six times. 

He gave Lupin a minute when they got home to catch his breath. Unpleasant, Moody knew, but all that aparating should confuse any tails. 

“We walk from here. It’s not far.”

And he moved before Lupin could react. Alastor flipped his eye to look out his the back of his skull and watched. Lupin was muttering the whole way, aye, but following. Something about crazy old curmudgins… well, the werewolf would learn soon enough. 

They came to the cottage-the same one, Moody knew, where he’d been living for the past three years. The Moody of five years ago would be screaming at the current one for stupidity but, well. Three years in one place, nobody’d found them that Moody didn’t let in. Maybe the moving every few months thing was overboard. Like having so many poisons disguised as tea. Or a couch that would bite someone in the ass if they sat on it wrong (granted, that one happened because of Harry’s accidental magic during one of Bones’s visits, but Moody kept it for a few months. Boy had some power, he did). Or a dozen pedestrian-munching garbage bins. One pedestrian-munching garbage bin, Moody had found, was sufficient these days, given all they ever caught was the occasional stray cat.

Alastor used his lead on Lupin to key him into the wards. He used the distraction the garden hose gave the werewolf to put up a few extra temporary wards, just in case. He used the distraction the plastic flamingoes and ceramic garden gnomes (the muggle kind) gave him to ensure they weren’t followed. He spent the entire time Lupin dodged the Flamethrowing Tulips grown at just the right height to hit certain bits in particular to enjoy the show. It seemed Lupin’s wand skills were not anywhere near as unpracticed as occlumency. Good, Moody thought, as Lupin wrestled with the enchanted welcome mat, after Mad-eye had opened the door and invited him in. He might need those skills to protect the lad some day. 

“Gramps?” the lad asked, coming from the attic. Perfect timing. “What’s going on?” Green eyes grew wide as they saw the doormat doing it’s job. “Are we under attack!?” Wand out quickly, positioned behind the cover of the sofa, eyes checking all entrances and exits. Good lad. 

“Nah, just letting Lupin here have some fun with the defenses. Need to check them every once in a while.”

The boy nodded, Moody’s way of testing visitors was old hat by now. “Okay. And he’s here because…”

Moody smirked in approval, and the lad beamed back at the silent pride. “I told you we needed a tutor for ya. Besides, your old babysitter moved away months ago, and we don’t want an incident like last week, do we?” Alastor growled. Potter blushed and rubbed his neck.

“I didn’t mean to flood the house, honest! I’m nine, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Good thing I’m not hiring a babysitter, I’m hiring a tutor.”

“But… but doesn’t that cost money?”

Moody shook his head. “Your parents left you an education fund, Bones got me access four months ago, in secret of course. Besides, Lupin here knows a few tricks even I don’t.”

Green eyes twinkled (and not the creepy way Albus’s did, Harry Potter was the perfect picture of innocence, thank you very much. Made him harder to curse if he was cute, an advantage the boy was taught to use.)

“Oh really.”

Moody smiled internally. The lad’s ‘sneak attack practice’ (read pranks) had gotten much more sophisticated over the last year. Moody wondered what the two would be able to do together.

“Oh my God.” A shocked voice said from the doorway. Lupin had apparently taken care of the doormat. 

“No, my name’s Harry, but don’t let that stop you.”

He just had to start acting like his father. Damn kid.

“I… Harry… How…” Lupin seemed to gather himself. “So… Petunia and Lily were secretly half-siblings?” the werewolf guessed. 

Both of the house’s residents laughed. Well, Harry laughed, the noise Alastor made sounded more like a hoarse, manly cackle. 

“No blood relation. I took the lad after his aunt proved… unsuitable. But, he has some questions I can’t answer. Thought you might be able to. And since you’re out of a job, and I need to go back to mine, and the kid needs someone to keep him out of trouble while I’m out… well. Left a rather large education trust fund, the Potters did. And knowing James, I’d think he’d put paying for any tutor’s medical needs in the contract.”

Lupin’s jaw dropped. “Wolfsbane… No, I can’t accept this…”

“You can, actually. And should. The kid needs more adults than me, Bones and a couple o’ muggles. He needs someone who can teach him all the fiddly second-year stuff I’ve forgotten and don’t have the time for. You’d be making my job a lot easier, since I know you’d die before givin’ him up to any Death Eaters.” Lupin nodded at that point. “There ain’t many people I trust like this Lupin. But you’re loyal. And he needs that.”

The werewolf took a deep breath. A second. Closed his eyes, put his hands on his hips. Sighed. 

“Am I going to have to fight the doormat every day?” he asked grudgingly. 

Alastor smirked-the kind normal folk actually saw as a smirk, not the natural one. “Well…”

Lupin groaned. “For Harry.” He muttered just barely loud enough to hear. Then he turned to the lad. “How well you know to use that wand of yours?”


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Potter knew he was not a normal boy. Normal boys were not wizards, as a simple statistical fact.

Harry Potter knew he was not a normal wizard. This distinction was not particularly significant when he was younger. The skin-darkening soaps, lotions and makeups he wore regularly were the only concession to this fact.

Some might think he was abnormal because he knew the basics of a dozen different combat forms, both hand to hand and weapons, and was a black belt in five of them. Some might think it unusual that he learned to shoot a gun at age eight. Some might think it unusual that he was already rather competent at magic, with the theoretical comprehension of an OWL student, every spell through second year down pat, and a good many more spanning up through NEWT level under his belt already. Some might think it unusual that he knew three different languages, and had over a dozen different cyphers memorized. Still more might think him strange because of his propensity to case any space he entered, or to place his back to a wall, or to stand where he had a clear view of all entrances and exits.

However, those who thought that would likely attribute it to Harry’s grandfather. Although not related by blood, Gramps had been raising Harry for five years, and that was the longest he’d spent with any guardian, including his biological parents. And Gramps was a bloody legend. But one did not survive such amazing adventures without enemies.

Hence, Harry’s training. Or at least, to Harry’s knowledge.

Harry Potter knew he was famous. He also knew that the wizarding public, being largely made up of sheep, thought he had defeated Voldemort. This, Harry had known for years, was a rather stupid idea. 

A much more reasonable explanation was that Harry’s mother had, whether through an illegal dark spell she came across or an explosion of accidental magic, given her life to protect her baby from Voldemort. Such things had, for example, been the downfall of several past Dark Lords, including Xing Hoe Ni in 200BC China and Methepsit in Egypt around 4500 BC. Unfortunately, that would require intelligence on the wizarding public’s part. Something Harry knew was generally nonexistent.

However, the fact that Harry was blamed for Voldemort’s defeat had never been connected in his own mind to his training. Therefore, the eleven-year-old waiting for the Hogwarts express to arrive (so that Gramps could properly secure and ward a compartment before Harry was allowed in) thought his training was simply a byproduct of his Gramp’s supreme awesomeness.

When Gramps made his way on to the train to begin the sweep, Harry turned to his other companions, his tutor Remus Lupin and honorary aunt, Amelia Bones, who was fussing over her blood niece, Susan.

“Now remember Harry…” Uncle Remus started. The young wizard held back a groan. “Listen to the teachers…”

Unless, Harry knew, they were out to get him.

“Make sure you keep up your occlumency…”

In case Headmaster Dumbass felt like getting arrested for mind meddling.

“Study hard…”

Although not too hard because you already know most of the spell work and that’s half your classes right there.

“Make some friends…”

But don’t get to close to them in case they’re spies. Or evil. Or annoying. Or brats. Probably all four, in most cases, Harry suspected. Otherwise, Gramps would trust people more.

“Cause some mischief, and most importantly….”

Harry joined Remus for the next bit. 

“Don’t get caught.”

Both wizards laughed, and the elder ruffled the younger’s hair. 

“All clear.” Gramps grunted from the train door. Remus handed Harry’s owl cage (Hedwig, his birthday present from Remus, had flown ahead) to Gramps, before taking one end of the trunk and carrying it aboard with Harry’s assistance. Susan and Aunt Amelia followed. 

Luggage arranged, Gramps acquiesced to Harry’s quick hug request before beating a hasty retreat. Gramps wanted the connection between ‘Moody Junior’ and Harry Potter to be kept quiet, just in case. People were less likely to suspect Harry’s preparedness if they didn’t know who his Gramps was. Susan leaned out the window to talk to Amelia and watch out for other friends expected to join them, while Harry settled down in the compartment.

Over the next hour, they were joined by a muggleborn named Hermione Granger, Susan’s friend Hannah Abbott, and Susan’s acquaintance Neville Longbottom. Harry already had profiles on all three (all of his year, actually), curtesy of Gramps, but the muggleborn’s was considerably sparser than those of the other two, since the muggles had a far better handle on their children’s privacy than wizards did. 

“Oh, by the way, Hannah.” Susan said, just as the train got moving. “I’ve wanted to tell you this and introduce you for a while. You know all those times I had to cancel on you because of other plans? Well, you see, Auntie thought Harry here needed some exposure to a witch his own age, and I’ve wanted to introduce you two for ages, you’re my two best friends after all, but, well, we had to keep Harry’s location a secret, and…”

“No. Way.” Hannah gasped. Harry smirked behind his book (unlike Gramps, Harry’s smirks were easily identifiable, although he had refined the art of sending silent messages with them long ago). He was wondering how long ignoring the advances of the rest of the car would last. “Harry… you don’t mean…”

Harry could feel Susan nodding from where their shoulder’s touched. 

“Yes, I do. Harry Potter, meet my friend Hannah Abbott. Hannah, meet Harry.”

Harry looked above the book to give a brief nod before returning to not-reading.

“Harry Potter!” the muggleborn burst out. “I’ve read all about you, you know. You’re in at least two of my history books, let me find them…”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary Miss Granger.” Susan scolded. 

“But… I just wanted to show…”

“Yes, I understand. But he’s rather shy, our Harry. And anyways, the only reason he’s famous is because of how his mum died, and that’s a bit insensitive.”

Because the way you just mentioned it was so much better, Harry thought, but held his tongue. 

“Oh… oh my… I’m so terribly sorry.”

Harry glanced over the book to give another quick nod, hoping he didn’t pink too much. This lighter skin tone was annoying, even if it was his natural one. Much easier for others to get a read on him.

Luckily, Longbottom and Abbott were shyer themselves, and Granger seemed to respect his reading time. The ride was uneventful, and once he relaxed, Harry even got some progress in the magical theory he was reading. Remus was technically no longer teaching him, now that he was at Hogwarts, but had given Harry a list of books to keep his theory sharp while he worked through spells he already understood. Amelia and Moody had, however, both hired Remus on as joint steward of the House of Potter and the House of Bones, which was just enough work to keep him busy outside full moons, and meant he collected the general Potter Steward’s benefits, including medical care for all chronic conditions. It felt good to know his father’s best friend (ignoring the traitor) was being cared for. 

The only time Harry spoke up was on the subject of houses. Nevile was complaining that he’d let his Gran down by being a Hufflepuff. 

“Is there something wrong with that?” Harry asked at those comments. Although not as boisterous as the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry in modern times, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor did have a long history of butting heads. Naturally, with Remus about all the time, Harry had heard this rivalry vocally monologed upon, from both perspectives. Harry was unsure which of those two houses he would prefer, as between his two primary male role models, he had a fair representation of the best of each. Both would jokingly get into debates or expound on the vileness of the other’s house, but as neither knew whether Harry would take after his blood or adoptive relations in that matter, they both took pains to acknowledge their opponent house’s positive qualities. Wouldn’t do to spout prejudices that would eventually apply to their favorite little marauder, after all.

“Well, nothing, I think. Madam Bones is pretty cool, and I know Susan and Hannah both want to get in there, but my Gran wants me to be Gryffindor like my dad.”

Harry mentally reviewed Neville’s file. His Gran was Augusta Longbottom, who if Harry recalled, was on the list of women his Gramps avoided crossing for his own health. Although, unlike the other women Gramps was “not scared just prepared to face a worthy opponent of”, Augusta was also Gramps’ ex-girlfriend.

“Well, that’s surprising, considering Augusta was, herself, a Hufflepuff.” Nevile’s jaw dropped at that. He didn’t know? Interesting.

“R-really? I-I guess that makes a lot of sense. She just, um, really wants me to live up to my dad’s legacy, and he was Gryffindor.”

“Bullocks.” Harry retorted, eliciting gasps from Abbott and Granger. Susan, who know his Gramps, was used to the language by now. “Parents don’t want to have clones of themselves, they want children, reflections of themselves meshed with their partner. Children biologically and psychologically cannot be the same as their parents. You don’t have to live up to a legacy, you _are_ your father’s legacy. The reflection and embodiment of his relationship with your mother. By letting someone turn you into something you aren’t and don’t want to be, you are failing a parent’s most important wish by compromising your own happiness. Besides, it doesn’t matter what house you end up in. It will never be on your resume or transcript, but your accomplishments, those will be. Let the Hat put you where you will grow the most, and as long as you do your best to remain true to yourself, you can’t go wrong.”

“That… was very wise, Harry.” Granger replied.

Harry shrugged. “That’s what I was told when I started worrying about disappointing people with my house.” Quite literally. Uncle Remus liked big words. “I hope it helps, Longbottom.”

“I… I’m not sure… I think… I’ll have to think about this…”

They exited the train just after sundown, and the entire affair up through the sorting went just as Harry expected. Longbottom, Harry noted, ended up in Gryffindor, but he didn’t look surprised. He just smiled and waved to his new housemates before running back to return the Hat he’d forgotten about, laughing all the while. 

When Harry was called, a hush fell over the hall.

Sheep.

He was careful to keep his magic sense open for any attacks as he ascended the steps, as his back was a perfect target while he climbed. 

As McGonagall lowered the Hat, Harry lowered his occlumency shields. He didn’t want to, but there was little choice if he was going to attend Hogwarts. 

“Now then, where… Oh my. How interesting.”

Yes, yes, complex personal backstory, I know.

“Well, you might know, but this is all news to me. The details aren’t really important, but where you go…”

Hufflepuff or Gryffindor please.

“Excuse me?”

I think one of those two, although I can’t decide which. Which were you thinking?

“Well… Gryffindor and Slytherin…”

What, just because of the parcelmouth thing? No thanks. I’d kill the lot of them by the end of the week. And I’d hate to undo all that work you put into sorting the firsties…

“You know how horrid that would sound to someone not inside your head, right?”

Do you think they’ll leave me alone if I end up in the snake den?

“Well, no, that is a good point… actually, I think your point has quite a bit of merit… alright, well if you won’t have Slytherin, and while you have plenty of bravery, I think they could really use someone with a bit more of a spine in… HUFFLEPUFF!”

The room lost it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had another story idea that I started writing over the last week. Apparently I have a thing for cranky old guys with hidden soft sides.
> 
> In other news, I find myself running out of things I wanted to read. Any recs would be appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

“Excuse me.” Alastor muttered, as he stood up from the afternoon meeting and made his way to the door. 

“Where are you…?” Dawlish began to ask churlishly, but Bones shushed him.

“Tell me if anybody needs cursed.” The DMLE director ordered, before turning back to the patrol schedules at hand. 

Moody made his way to his office (because seniority has perks), and found his new apprentice, a woman named Tonks, throwing a muggle bouncy ball against the wall, where it Bang. Bang. Bang. -ed and then returned to her hand. 

Bang.

Oh no.

Bang.

It seemed she was so engrossed in the ball

Bang

She wasn’t paying attention

Bang

To anything going on around her

Bang

BANG! 

He let off a loud sound like a gunshot right next to the woman’s ear. She screamed bloody murder

“WHAT HAVE I BLOODY TOLD YOU NYMPHADORA!”

The metamorphmagus, who was now red-skinned and white haired as she fell to her ass on the floor, stuttered. 

“What the… who… how…”

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE TRAINEE! CONSTANT! NOT WHEN IT’S CONVENIENT FOR YOU! NOT ONLY WHEN MOODY’S LOOKING! CONSTANT MEANS BLOODY CONSTANT!”

“I, um, didn’t, um, weren’t you in a, um, meeting?” the girl stuttered between heaving breaths. 

“OUT!”

With an order she could actually obey, Tonks promptly did so, scrambling out of the room. 

Alastor put up a few more wards, just in case, before scanning the room for bugs and pulling out the mirror. 

“Answer.” He muttered, and the reflective surface turned wispy white. 

“Hi Gramps!” a beaming face cheered, from the dorms, if Moody had to guess.

“Yes, yes, you’re calling me during classes, which means something happened. Amelia wants to know who she’s hexing.”

Harry flinched instead of laughed, as Moody had expected. Damn it. Moody was really just hoping the classes were so boring Harry decided to play hooky. 

“Well, two things. Dumbledore called me to his office today.”

Moody grunted.

“He asked about how I was doing, blah blah blah. There were a lot of vague questions about where I grew up, what Auntie knows, blah blah blah. I answered just like you taught me, kept my shields up, and didn’t look him in the eye.”

That bit was important. Human brains didn’t stop developing until the person was twenty or so, which made occlumency impossible to master at a young age. Shields could help, but it would never be perfect; something would get through. The best solution was to avoid eye contact all together. 

“He also wanted to know about the Dursleys. Why I would leave, a bunch of that stuff. I think he wanted me to say I wanted to go back or something. I don’t know. But I thought I should warn you it was going on.”

“And the other thing?”

Harry grimaced.

“I didn’t tell you, because I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to risk giving the game away, but on the first night, I looked to the head table and got a splitting headache, right over my scar. And you said curse scars could give warnings, but I wasn’t sure if that’s what it was? So I kept quiet, but I paid attention. I’ve had DADA three times now, including last class, and every time, I got a twinge. Not the splitting ache from the feast when we got here, but it’s happened three times now.”

Moody frowned. “It could just be the curse on the position, but we can’t be sure. I’ll talk to Bones. She wants to go after Dumbledore anyways, after our letters got tampered with.” And wasn’t Moody glad he’d warned Bones to have a cypher code with Susan. Both kid’s letters were clearly censored in some way, but since Harry had the mirror, it was decided to save going nuts over the letters in case they needed an excuse to go to the school personally.

“I’ll warn Bones. Expect us at dinner.”

“Understood. And Gramps?” the brat had an impish smirk on his face. “I _looooove youuuu_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, love ya to brat.” Alastor growled.

“Tell Uncle Remus I say hi!”

“Will do lad.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Damn that woman could storm into a room.

They showed up right in the middle of diner, one director, three aurors and one trainee, throwing the doors open like characters in a movie. 

“Ah, Amelia, Alastor, Kingsley, Ruphus, Nymphadora…”

“Don’t call me that!”

Mad-eye ‘accidentally’ stomped his trainee’s toe with his staff. 

Albus had continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“…what a pleasant surprise.”

“Cut the crap Albus.” Amelia began.

Someone at Gryffindor table shouted “Language!” before they were shushed by their neighbors-a Weasley, Moody guessed, but he couldn’t be sure. Color didn’t come through quite right when he was looking through the side of his own skull.

“We have a quick problem to deal with and then we’ll be out of your…”

“Stupify! Stupify Stupify!” Moody shouted without warning, aiming for the turbaned fellow on the dais. Several children screamed (Harry, Mad-eye noted, ducked under a table). Several professors tried to shield their co-worker, but weren’t quick enough. Tonks, however, was quick enough to shield Mad-eye from the stunners sent in reply.

“Madam Bones, we’ve got a possession on our hands!”

The teachers immediately froze. Flitwick let out an “EEP” and fell from his chair.

Albus just frowned down at the group of aurors from his pedestal. “Now, now, what is the meaning of…”

Shacklebolt, who knew his former mentor well enough to just go and poke at Quirrell, was casting diagnostics. 

“He’s right, ma’am. High-level spirit to. Physically linked and integrated with the host, which is why the stupefy stopped it escaping. How’d you find that Mad-eye?”

“Check the back of his head.” Moody grunted. Kingsley removed the purple turban, and the sight underneath caused Madam Pomphrey, who had gone over to check over the victim, to faint straight out.

“Well, I can confirm this guy has a face growing out of the back of his skull.”

Snape, who had been sitting next to Quirrell and observing all of this with a discerning eye, jumped back at the sight of the face and leveled his wand at it. 

“Do you recognize this, Professor Snape?” Kingsley asked when he noted the reaction.

Snape visibly paled three shades and swallowed.

“Now, now, no need for that. Let us at least send the children away, they needn’t see this…”

“Let me remind you, ‘Professor’ Snape,” Bones gritted over the Headmaster, “The conditions of your release were incumbent upon you offering any evidence when asked. Who’s face is that, or am I going to have to send you for a night with the dementors?”

“Now Amelia, I really think…”

“It’s Madam Bones in official capacity, Headmaster. You would do well to remember the proper protocols.” She turned back to Snape. “Professor Snape? Which will it be?”

The Death Eater seemed to consider for a moment. 

“The Dark Lord, Madam Bones. I can… that is… it looks like him.”

Several students screamed, and a few copied Harry and took cover. Scrimgeour stepped in. 

“It is highly possible, then, whatever creature is possessing the professor is taking the bogart-like approach of becoming one’s greatest fear.”

Moody wasn’t sure what Scrimgeour was playing at, but Bones seemed to get it. 

“Yes, that would make sense. Around this many people, it took the fear collectively held by all of us…”

“You-Know-Who. So that’s what he looked like…” Tonks, who had joined Shack, mused. 

“Well.” Bones gathered herself. “Auror Shacklebolt, you know the procedure. You four get Quirrell down to the DOM for treatment, while I start arranging interviews with the staff and students. Lady of Light only knows how many statements we’ll need to take…”

The aurors buckled down and got to work.

\-------------------------------------------------------

It was two days and several inter-department wand measuring contests later when Moody and Bones managed to pull Susan and Harry in for a ‘statement’, with Pomona there as an advocate for Harry.  
“Professor Sprout,” Bones asked before they got down to business. “How is your occlumency?”  
Sprout smiled genially. “All Heads of Houses must be accomplished in order to protect our student’s privacy. Why do you ask?”

“We are going to ask you to keep a secret, Professor. While it is nothing that would put lives at risk or anything like that, we do want to ensure it stays quiet for as long as possible, just in case.”

The herbologist nodded. “As long as no student is put at risk by this secret, I will keep it.”

Harry, who had clearly been holding back, tucked against a wall, ran forward to hug his guardian. 

“Hi Grandpa.” He said, tilting his head into Mad-eye’s chest so only with the magic eye could one see the cheeky smirk.

“Lad.”

“Oh.” Sprout sputtered. “Oh my. _Oh._. Well. That makes… a good deal of sense.”

Bones, who was at this point hugging her own ward, laughed. “Yes, that was about my reaction when I found out.”

“But how… wait… so Lily wasn’t actually a…”

“No biological relation.” Harry and Moody both chorused. 

“I took the lad in when he was six and the previous guardians proved… insufficient.”

“Now.” Bones gathered their attention. “There are a few things you should know. Professor Sprout, since we are the children’s guardians, do you think you could leave the room for a few moments so we can tell them?” Sprout quickly assented and left. “These things won’t be public, so you must keep them to yourselves, however, we feel it is important you should know. This is not to get out, understood?” The children, no strangers to secrets, nodded. “Good. Now, we examined the spirit possessing Quirrell, and confirmed that it is, in fact, You-Know-Who. We confirmed he is alive, and the Department of Mysteries confirmed how he did it. They are coordinating with the Goblins on how to make him mortal so we can kill the bastard for good. What you need to know; he’s tucked away in a hole so deep, he’ll never be getting out, with round the clock security. As long as we maintain that prison, he shouldn’t be able to possess anyone else, or get up to any such shenanigans. Harry, because of how his magic is connected to you based some scans we ran, we may have to put you through a small procedure to make sure killing him doesn’t affect you, and the connection doesn’t keep us from being able to kill him. Otherwise, this wont affect anything. We’re handling it, and if all goes well, You-Know-Who will be dead by this time next year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so I have several projects cooking for the next work in this series. One looks to be about 100000 words at least, and would be Weasley-focused. The other should be around 40000 and would be about another cranky old man. I also have two outlines I'm developing, one involving Hagrid, and on involving Figg. Any preferences? I'm going to work on them as I feel like, but there's a lot of times I want to write but cant decide which to work, I'm hoping some opinions will motivate me. 
> 
> Also, I'm reading Harry Potter and the Problem of Potions right now, and gosh that is amazingly funny. Find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/741255


	8. Chapter 8

Far out on the sea, a tiny boat made the slow journey. There were five passengers; the old sailor who held the Fidelius, the only person who could lead the way into the island’s wards, two aurors, a trainee, and one Mundungus Fletcher, about to start his fourth stint in the prison.

Monotonously, the tiny dingy made it’s way to the island of Azkaban, creeping closer and closer as the world became colder and bleaker.

The start of the visit was typical-well, as typical as a stop on an island full of soul-sucking, heat stealing demons could be. The prisoner was handed off to the guards, paperwork was signed and magically filed. That part was all normal. The other auror, Dawlish, took Tonks for both a tour of the prison, which all trainees had to go through once, and a security inspection, which was done every time aurors made a trip to the island. 

The remaining auror, however, did not join his student for this event. He had a different use for his time.

“I need to interrogate Sirius Black.” Alastor instructed one of the guards. It nodded it’s hood, and gusted off with two others to retrieve the prisoner, while a fourth guided Mad-eye to an interrogation room. The walls were as grey as everywhere else, the only additions a chair bolted to the ground for the interrogator and a set of chains in the wall, with barely a foot of length to each of them, for the prisoner. Black was dragged in by the dementors a few moments after Alastor settled himself, muttering apologies and James’s name over and over. 

Mad-eye considered what he wanted to start with, as the guards left him to it. In order that prisoners were coherent, the dementors stayed away during interrogations, so that one could only feel them on the periphery of their senses. Black seemed to pull into himself as the dementors disappeared, just rocking back and forth on his knees. The chains were spaced with the intention the prisoner be forced to stand, but Black stayed down by twisting his wrists in an uncomfortable manner, so his hands rested on his matted hair and he sat on his chained feet.

Moody had a list of things he wanted to say. This was once his apprentice, one member of a pair that were legendary for their skills. Black took down dozens of Death Eaters, both for imprisonment and in a more permanent fashion.

When did he turn?

Why did he turn?

Was he ever really on their side?

Why would he give up James, his brother in all but blood?

Why would he give up Harry to that monster?

Did James mean nothing to him?

Did Harry?

Did Alastor?

Mad-eye had lost trainees and former trainees before. It wasn’t easy, but he did his best to prepare them and prayed to whatever was listening that they came back. More often than not, that prayer was answered with a yes.

Where had he gone wrong? What had he missed?

Black seemed to finally gather himself. He coughed hoarsely once. Twice.

“So… ten years and no visit? Why now?”

No visit. Like they were still on any kind of terms.

“Your Master. He claimed to be immortal. How?”

Black’s dark eyes stared into Alastor’s who had to try damn hard not to flinch at that unreadable gaze.

“How… How the hell would I know?” 

He started cackling like a madman, bent over until his forehead was as close to the ground as it could get. Eventually, the laughter turned to sobs. Moody just waited. It always took a while, getting information out of someone fresh from dementor’s clutches.

“How the hell would I know!? You think I wouldn’t hand everything I knew over about that murdering bastard!” Black screeched. “I didn’t know more than anyone else.”

“You were his right-hand man.” Moody pointed out. Black straightened. Then his eyes filled with tears as he started laughing again, eyes never leaving Moody’s face. 

“You… You think I was… was actually one of them? I thought… I thought at least a few people knew me better than that…”

“Don’t try the innocent game Black, you got convicted for a reason.”

“Convicted!“ Black started yelling as he sprang to his feet. “Convicted! That implies I had a bloody trial!”

Moody frowned at the implication. 

“You were a Death Eater, Black, spying on the Order…”

“You think… you think I would do that?” Black’s eyes locked on Moody’s again, the flesh one, as if that could see through to his soul. “You… you actually think I would do that? To James, to,” he choked up, “to Harry…” Suddenly, Black got back his energy, started tugging on the chains again. Alastor saw a dribble of blood roll down Black’s right arm. 

“Harry. I… I gave him to Hagrid. He was in the rubble and bleeding but I gave him to Hagrid… the rat was there, I had to stop him before he got anybody else killed, so I let Hagrid take Harry… is... is he okay? Was he hurt? Did any of the Death Eaters get him?”

A caustic retort was right on Alastor’s tongue, but he stopped himself. That… wasn’t something he’d heard before. Why the hell would Black give Harry over if he was working for Riddle…. Something didn’t make sense.

“What do you mean, gave him to Hagrid, Black? You were there when your master attacked?”

“My ma…. No, I bloody wasn’t, the wards went off and I got there as fast as I could, but I was too late… I found James crushed against the wall… heard Harry… found Lily… and then Hagrid was there and he wanted to take Harry and I thought good, I could go after the rat for betraying them…”

“The rat. Who was the rat, Black? If you didn’t sell the Potters to Voldemort, who did?”

“Pettigrew! The rat! I thought I was too obvious. ‘Let me be the decoy,’ I said, ‘Make it Peter instead, nobody would suspect…’ well, that’s just what Voldemort counted on. His little spy, right under our noses… I may as well have served them up on a platter…” Black seemed to gather in again. “Harry! You didn’t say! Is he alright, did…” Black grew even paler, as if that were possible, “No, he can’t be… they didn’t get him, they couldn’t…”

Moody didn’t want to believe it (yes he did). If what Black said was true… if he never had a trial and Pettigrew was the traitor… and godparents automatically got custody of children unless a will specified otherwise, and magical godparents overruled any muggle caregivers…

Black was Potter’s godfather. If Black, the one person who legally could-was legally required-to subvert Albus and get Harry out of that home was incapacitated due to false charges…

Well, there was one way to verify all of this. 

\---------------------------------------

Alastor did not storm. He didn’t have the legs or height for it (although neither did Amelia, and yet she managed, but that was besides the point). 

No, Mad-eye Moody stalked. 

On this particular day, he stalked down to Amelia Bones’s office, a stack of files balanced atop a large ledger. 

“Bones! Clear your office now! This waits even an hour and it’ll be both our jobs!” he roared as he reached the door. Two… well, he didn’t bother to examine them too carefully, two people scurried out in front of him as he waltzed in, slammed the door, and started casting charms.

Amelia was half-way around her desk when she he turned back, hand reaching, and face covered in concern. 

“Alastor? What’s wrong? Who’s dead?”

“Nobody yet.” He snapped back, “But I can think of at least two people who would wish they were when I’m through with them.”

“Alastor, tell me now.” Bones demanded. Moody threw the file on the desk, sending some of the papers already there scattering to the floor. 

“That.” He pulled a file from the stack. “The file on Black. Look for his trial transcript.”

Amelia slowly opened the file and thumbed through. There wasn’t much. “All I see here are his auror certs, the report form Catastrophes from when he was brought in, subpoenas from some of his arrests when he worked for the department, and the transfer order to Azkaban.” Bones frowned. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“You know how I wanted to ask him some questions? I did. He didn’t have any answers though. Claimed we had the wrong guy, that he never had a trial.”

“What? That’s… not…” He watched her go through the same thought process he had. In the chaos after Voldemort fell, it was all too possible for one person to slip through the cracks. A crack so deep it was only luck, a possessed teacher, and overly-cautious grandfather that had anyone looking after ten bloody years. She looked back at the Catastrophes report.

“If Fudge was one of the team sent, he would have been called to the trial…”

“And the subpoena would be in his file? Already checked. Subpoenas for dozens of other cases, including one where Black was also a witness. Not for any trial of Black though.”

“The Wizengamot minutes and agenda…”

“Checked them. Three times. No mention of a trial for Black. And get this. Officially, we got him because of Pettigrew’s death. Nail in the coffin, right?” Moody dragged out the large tome he’d carried before her shocked eyes. It was charmed to show the same thing as the Book of the Dead, which was charmed centuries before to record every magical death on British soil. “Pettigrew? He doesn’t show up.”

Bones dropped the file. 

“Pettigrew is still alive. That was the only wizard murder we could pin on him…” Amelia said under her breath, wheels visibly turning.

“…And the first thing that would have been confirmed for a trial to happen. Black claimed that he wasn’t the Secret Keeper, he thought he was too obvious and did a fake-out with Pettigrew.” Mad-eye explained.

Bones crashed into her chair. 

“We… even if he was You-Know-Who’s right hand man, the ICW has laws about this… if we have no proof of a trial, and kept him in a prison already under international fire for its conditions for ten years… Oh Lady of Light…”

\----------------------------------

Alastor plodded his way down the hall in St. Mungo’s, Lupin at his side. Once Bones was convinced, things had gone down quickly and efficiently. Enough evidence was found to get Black a ‘retrial’ at which he requested a varitradus spell. Unlike truth potion, varitradus just said if a person was telling the truth, it didn’t force them to do so, and couldn’t pick up white lies. Luckily, the DMLE prosecutors were good at wording their questions, and in about two minutes it was established that Black was neither a Death Eater, nor Secret Keeper, nor any kind of criminal at all. The cherry on top for the press was how, intermittently throughout his testimony, Black either started sobbing about how it was all his fault or begging to know if Harry was alright. Moody was fairly certain half the women in the room started crying at some point. And Skeeter-the scummy reporter was having a bloody field day attacking everyone involved.

Fudge and Crouch both got arrested, good riddance, and when aurors raided the latter’s house, they found his supposedly dead son in the basement. A very interesting case, that-and one Moody wasn’t allowed anywhere near for fear he’d murder Crouch himself before the trial. A fear that was far from unfounded. 

So, between dealing with all the leads the imprisoned Voldemort gave away in his regular monologues (of which there were many, and you’d think an evil dark lord who led a secret terrorist ring would be better at keeping his lackey’s identities secret) and the investigations into corruption, both of which Moody wasn’t allowed anywhere near because conflict of interest, Alastor tended to slip through the cracks.

Which was useful at the moment, because the healers said Black was… well, he needed to calm the fuck down before somebody got hurt. And he refused to do that until someone let him see Harry. 

Moody figured between himself and Lupin, they could calm the man down. Hopefully. Black wasn’t exactly sane before Azkaban, so he gave it a fifty-fifty shot. 

They reached the door, and Lupin knocked quietly. 

“Come in?” the hoarse voice croaked. The two wizards did so, and found Black, entirely bald and strapped to the bed. 

“Moony…” the half delirious patient muttered. 

“Hey there, Padfoot.” The werewolf answered, reaching out to take Black’s hand. “How you feeling?”

“Like I was in Azkaban for ten years and nobody will tell me what happened to my bloody godson!” Black screeched in the direction of the hall. Moody, out of concern for the poor orderlies he could see wincing down the hall with his eye, shut the door and started casting wards. Just in case. 

“Moody… you… you believed me you… you got me out?”

Alastor just grunted.

“Thank you… I don’t even know how….”

“Shut up Black.” Surprisingly, the younger man obeyed. 

“I should have realized years ago, so don’t thank me for being a decade late. Besides. I didn’t entirely do it for you.”

Confusion covered the bald man’s face. “What… who…”

“You asked about Potter?” Black’s eyes lit up. “Well, he was with distant relatives till he was six, nice and safe like. A few years ago, though, he had to be moved, and long story short, he ended up with me.”

Even more confusion.

“Ended… up with… what?”

Lupin, damn him, just stepped out of the line of fire and smirked. Moody groaned. This was going to be a long conversation. He was far to sober for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So with everything going on right now, I might not be able to write as much as I normally do. So once this story is done, I'll stop posting anything, and only start up again when I'm in a good place buffer wise. I've also decided what the next story in this series will be, and already have the outline and first chapter together! But how hard I can work on it really depends on how the current situation evolves. 
> 
> My thoughts and prayers go out to those affected by the current crisis and those at risk.


	9. Chapter 9

Families and friends waited patiently on the platform for the scarlet steamer to arrive. On the end closest to the front, the pureblood elite mingled politely while awaiting their offspring. Of course, this section of the platform was far smaller in this year than in those past, given the resent… depletions in the pureblood elite’s population. The center of the platform was inhabited by the general folk. However, unlike years past, the crowd at the back of the platform was far less dense. There were a number of reasons for this. 

One was the presence of Amelia Bones. Although well regarded, the woman was known as no-nonsense. And while there was debate about whether the ‘special prisoner’ kept in the cells of the Ministry was actually You-Know-Who or not, the fact was she accomplished what light wizards wanted for a decade. Amelia Bones, with the help of aurors Mad-eye Moody, Shacklebolt, Dawlish, Scrimgeour, Savage, Wood, Proudfoot and Abbott, had finally found proof of what everybody already knew. That the Dark Mark required a willing murder to be placed. Death Eaters were being arrested left and right, and each arrest gave up more evidence of corruption, which was in turn used to make more arrests. The corruption of the Ministry was being dragged kicking and screaming into the light, and the general populace had faith in their government (or at least, a single department of it) for the first time since ’75. And all of this was due to the brave work of Madam Bones. 

Another reason that end was avoided was the presence of one Sirius Black. Released from Azkaban less than two months prior, St. Mungo’s had turned into something of a verbal battleground for a solid week, a situation that was only resolved by a visit from the third and fourth figures. With Black acquitted, his former peers had taken to regaling the public with stories of the ‘marauders’ and their exploits. And while many small children enjoyed the stories, Black’s reputation as an evil Death Eater was replaced with a reputation of ‘crazy prankster that doesn’t know where to quit and has no regard for privacy, dignity or personal space’. Many of the general populace knew Black at one point or another, the wizarding population being rather small. And none of them wanted to draw attention and be his first pranking target out of Azkaban. 

The third figure was known to be Black’s co-conspirator and friend of the late Potters, Remus Lupin. A rather private person, who had taken various public jobs at various times, but by far the least threatening of the quartet. 

The fourth figure was, of course, Alastor Moody. Known to hex you as soon as look at you, the man was implicated in some of the most violent Death Eater take-downs, both during the war and over the last several months. If Bones was the General, Moody was her attack dog. There was speculation, of course. Word had gotten out years ago about Moody’s illegitimate grandchild. Moody’s presence at the start of term was noted, and rumors that the grandson was in first year made their way through the Ministry, but as the boy clearly did not share Moody’s name, the speculation was left until a greater opportunity presented itself. 

An opportunity such as today. After all, the large number of home-witches with newly empty or depleted nests needed something to twitter about at holiday parties. 

So, the group was given a wide berth, both out of fear and for observational purposes.

It was no surprise, then, to the husbands of these busy house-witches, that extensive goodbyes were allowed to the children, particularly when it allowed the women (and handful of gentlemen who preferred a good gossip) a good position to observe. 

They were surprised that it was not Susan Bones and the brown-skinned boy a few had glimpsed before who ran for the odd quartet, but Susan and Harry Potter. But, explanations quickly circulated. Black was Moody’s former apprentice after all, and the senior auror reportedly took the betrayal rather hard. Black’s few public outings since his releasee were often in Mad-eye’s company, the elder likely taking the younger back under his wing for the recovery. (And if a few snide remarks about Narcissa Malfoy not defending her cousin got slipped between the lines, well, the Malfoys weren’t exactly in a political position to retaliate.) And Potter, having missed his godfather for most of his childhood, would naturally petition to join him for the holiday.

This theory was supported by the large, boisterous greeting Potter gave both of his parents’ old friends, filled with hugs, copious hair ruffling, and exclamations on the boy’s height. Potter seemed perfectly happy, even greeting the intimidating Bones and downright terrifying Moody with hugs as well. The fact that Mad-eye tolerated the contact was noted as unusual, but then dismissed, as Moody and the child clearly knew each other. Besides, who could be suspicious of a face that cute? Maybe Mad-eye had been part of Potter’s security detail at one point. The handful of gossipers with connections in the auror office noted that Moody did stop spending so much time in the office for several years around Potter’s disappearance and subsequent move to a new guardian, so the explanation was taken up happily.

The missing grandson was reasoned away as at home, especially after the only unknown dark-skinned first year, a Dean Tomas, was ushered home by his parents and sisters. Perhaps Moody was just one of the aurors assigned to secure the platform, and had taken the time to catch up with Bones during the previous and current sendoff.

All prominent sources of speculation explained, the various gossipers gathered up their families, ignoring the group of six that made their way out of the station.

\----------------------------------------------

Nymphadora Tonks opened the door on Christmas eve to find the most garish Christmas sweater she had ever seen (and her own was particularly outrageous to start with).

“Cousin Siri!” she squealed like the child she was when she’d last seen him. 

“Cousin Nymphy!” he squealed back.

Tonks hit him. In the shoulder. Hard. 

“My. Name. Is. Tonks!” she commanded, as her cousin pulled himself off of Remus, who he’d fallen into and taken down with him at the assault. 

“Well, I see old Mad-eye has been teaching you well.” The man muttered as he pulled himself up. 

“Nymphadora?” Tonks’ mother called from the kitchen. “Who is that?”

“Just Cousin Siri and Remus!” the auror trainee shouted back, as she made way for the two to enter.

The Tonks’ house was decked out in festive evergreen boughs, with a small tree in the corner near the telly. The smells of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger wafted from the kitchen, where Mum was well at work on the deserts (the dinner being already finished and tucked in a cabinet under preserving and warming charms). 

Tonks and her father entertained the two guests with trivial small-talk, before Tonks found an opening to ask, “So, where is Harry anyway? Scuttlebutt at the office is he’s staying with you over the holiday?”

Sirius and Remus glanced at each other. 

“We just picked him up.” the werewolf explained (auror training, she knew the signs). “He spent the day with us before he went back to his gr-“

Sirius cut his friend off with a pillow to the face (subtle much?) before continuing over him, “guardian’s house for most of the hols. Moony and I are over there regularly though.”

“Oh.” Tonks replied. She had wanted to meet her new little cousin, as she never had the chance when he was a baby because people were in hiding, and not when he grew up for obvious reasons. 

“But,” Sirius said, with all the inflection of a man dangling a carrot, “Your mum said we could invite him and his guardian. They should be here soon.”

That made more sense (as did the extra place setting Mum had her put out). 

“Oh. Well, it’s good that his guardians let you spend so much time with him.”

“You have no idea.” Remus muttered into the cup of tea he reclaimed from the tray. 

Niceties continued for several more minutes, consisting mostly of stories from Tonks’ Hogwarts days and training mishaps, interspersed with tales from the age of the Marauders.

Eventually, a knock came at the door, and Mum left only to return with a shocked look on her face.

“Sirius Orion Black.” The witch scolded. 

“Yes?” the man in question responded with a smile.

“You couldn’t be bothered to tell me who the boy’s guardian was?” Andromeda bit out.

“Well, you see, would you honestly have believed me if I had?”

Tonks, who had looked away from the hall in order to observe the byplay, fell off the back of the couch at a shout of “CONSTANT VIGILANCE” right by her ear.

“Moody? What the hell Mad-eye! I’m off the clock damn it…” 

Moody snarled back. “So? No excuse to let your guard down girl! Didn’t even bother to check if your mother was in her right mind when she came back. I could have been anyone!”

“I think she gets the point Gramps.” A quiet voice interrupted her mentor’s tirade. Moody sniffed but silenced himself, moving to claim a chair and bringing into view the firstie attached to his robes. 

“You’re… wait… Mum, why is he?” Tonks stammered, pointing back and forth between child and grandparent.

“He’s cousin Harry’s guardian, dear.” Tonks’ mum answered as Ted helped his daughter to her feet. 

“He… what? Moody, raising a kid?”

Sirius, the smug bastard, smirked away. 

\------------------------------------------

As families made their final preparations for the return trip to Hogwarts, the man made his move. Seeing a young mudblood with an open bag by her side, he quickly slipped the disguised gift between two books. There, the child would think it a late present, and that was one less piece of evidence of his hands.

Five more arrests the past week alone. The community was getting smaller and smaller, and he was quickly running out of money to cover himself. It was less a matter of staying out of prison, and more a matter of making sure his wife didn’t join him.

The man regretted the things he’d done in his youth, but regret meant little in wizarding law. But his son, his beloved son, needed a parent around. 

The man just prayed he’d have enough time to shield his wife before Moody came for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's doing okay.
> 
> Remember how I said I might not be able to write untill current events get taken care of? Well I started writing a little series to tide me over. The kind of thing with no plot and tiny chapters just to keep myself sharp. I'll start posting it regularly after this fic is finished. It's called Muggle Movements and it's the Daily Prophet's weekly colum about all things muggle. If you have any ideas about things wizards would ask questions about, feel free to comment, either here or on Muggle Movements.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!


	10. Chapter 10

“Halt!” Alastor called to the crowd of trainees across from him, who all immediately collapsed on the ground. Tonks, who was off to the side of the training gymnasium observing, snorted before badgering them for their stupidity. Honestly, these young hotheads, always thinking they could get some clout around the break room by taking the old man down a few notches in a four-on-one duel. It wasn’t as if that was the very same hotheaded behavior that kept them from having respect in the first place. Of course, Tonks probably egged on the other members of her cohort, but that was besides the point. If they couldn’t learn to ignore peer pressure, they’d never be able to avoid bribes from Malfoy and the like-well, only the like, seeing as Malfoy was cooling his heels in a cell three levels down.

Alastor turned a corner before pulling the buzzing mirror out, revealing the lad’s rumpled and anxious face. 

“Hi Gramps.” Harry said, his usual cheer gone, although whether that was a factor of the hour or whatever was going on Moody would have to find out. 

“Lad. You should be in class now. What happened? And do I need Bones for this?”

Susan, apparently waiting just out of sight, answered. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea. We’ll just have to tell Auntie anyways.”

Moody tried to hide his frown. That couldn’t be good. The defense professor was gone, and there were only two Horcruxes left to find (the one in Harry had been removed by a team of Gringotts curse breakers, DOM sorcerers, and St. Mungo’s healers, along with a voodoo shaman, a Cherokee historian on loan from MACUSA, and someone who simply identified themselves as ‘Bob’, in mid-February). What could possibly have gone wrong now?

“Alright lad, lass. I’ll go find Bones. Hush up for a minute.”

It took scarring five paper pushers, two aurors, three solicitors, and one very frazzled newly elected Minister of Magic (Arthur Weasley, who would have thought?) to hunt the woman down, having a spar of her own with a few rookie aurors in the training room right next to the one Moody had left. Figures. 

“Bones!” he shouted, sending one of the rookie’s wands flying, and causing another to drop their shield right before the stunner hit. 

“In a moment!” Bones called back, before handily disarming the remaining three. “There. Can it wait until I give these seven some pointers?”

Moody shook his head as the woman wiped her brow. “Sorry, just got a call. Something went down at Hogwarts.

That got some attention. 

“My office?” the director asked, already walking out of the room. Moody followed. 

When they got there and properly warded the room, Bones pulled out two bottles. “How drunk do I need to be?”

Moody grunted. “No idea. Ask them.” And he set the mirror on the desk. 

“Hi Auntie!” the two children chorused. 

“Hello Harry. Susan. What seems to be the problem?”

The bottles were notably left corked and out of the children’s sights as they explained. Bones and Mad-eye told the children they’d be there by dinner before closing the connection. Then, and only then, were the bottles glanced at consideringly. 

“Probably should stay sober for this one.” Bones muttered, before reluctantly putting them away.

“Speak for yourself.” Moody shot back, taking a swig from his own flask. 

“A petrified student. For three days, and we haven’t had a call from Hogwarts?”

“Aye. It’s a lucky thing the rumor mill runs so fast there. We might not have any evidence left if those two hadn’t done that bit o’ snooping.”

“And that writing… the Chamber of Secrets… that’s an old Slytherin legend, yeah?”

“Aye. Something about a monster to purge the school of muggleborns.” Another swig.

Bones looked at the ceramic badger on her desk for a few moments. “They didn’t say what blood status the victim was…”

“Aye. But a hyphenated name? Definitely not pureblood.”

“But we don’t know if they’re half or muggleborn.” Bones pointed out. Moody just glared at her.

“Whoever did this claimed it was the Chamber.”

“Well, yes, but Slytherin’s reported anti-muggleborn stance and the modern pureblood suppremicist stance are two different things. The difference might tell us if the   
Chamber was actually opened or just used to cover a prank.”

“Well, only one way to find out. Although, why hasn’t the lad been given mandrake draught yet?”

“That… is a very good question. It’s expensive, but Hogwarts has an emergency fund to pay for magical accidents. And if there is a person behind this, the school can sue for the cost. Mandrake draught is expensive, but not _that_ expensive.”

The two fell into silence as they mulled that over. 

“Well.” Moody started to stand. “We won’t know until we wake him up. I’ll go get the records from the last stunt like this.” He squinted at the younger woman. “You would have been in school then, aye?”

Bones nodded. “Speaking of failures of justice.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know? Well, I suppose you would have been new to the department when it went down. A real shitshow, that investigation.”

Moody growled at his superior. “What happened Bones.”

“Y’know, I think you should read the file yourself.”

\----------------------------------------

“Hagrid!?What the bloody hell were those incompetents thinking!”

\----------------------------------------

And so, for the second time that year, a team of aurors stormed into the Great Hall of Hogwarts mid-dinner. 

“Dumbledore!”

The man in question put down his golden goblet with a sigh. 

“Yes, Amelia?” 

She glared until the silence became uncomfortable, and Albus seemed to pick up on what he did wrong. Then the headmaster straightened, twisting so he sat up properly instead of tilted to the side. 

“What can I do for you, Director Bones?”

She nodded once, briskly. “Why didn’t the staff report the assault of a student?”

Dumbledore flinched. “Amelia, it was likely a harmless prank…”

“Well, we won’t know until the boy is woken up, will we? I assume Madam Pomphrey has already reached out for the Mandrake Draught?”

Albus frowned and sat back as Poppy turned to glare at him, arms crossed. 

“Well, you see, we just got a shipment of Mandrakes in, I thought once they matured…”

“And how long, exactly, would that take, Professor Sprout?”

The other woman, also glaring at the headmaster, responded, “Only until April.”

“Two months. You want a student to miss two months of school…”

“Now, now, Amelia, Mandrake Draught is expensive…”

“Expensive! What’s next, Hogwarts won’t heal burns because the cost of the salve is too high? Five percent of every student’s tuition goes to the injury fund. A fund that, I would remind you, the Ministry matches. I know for a fact there is enough in it to buy twelve courses of the stuff!”

Bones brushed the wrinkles out of the front of her robes and seemed to gather herself. 

“Well. Seeing as Hogwarts will not take the lead in the investigation, the DMLE will. As such, we brought two courses of Mandrake Draught, so that we might question the victim and determine if charges need must be pressed. “

“Hear now, this is my school…”

“Yes, and this is my investigation. Madam Pomphrey, if you could take us to the victim?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, and then my first complete fic is done! Woo Hoo!


	11. The End

Nymphadora Tonks could be terrible at stealth, if it was the kind that involved moving quietly. Luckily, while her own movements tended to be loud and clumsy, Tonks knew her way around the school almost as well as the Weaselys. 

Hogwarts had been shut down for the past week. A basilisk was no laughing matter after all; aurors and unspeakables were doing their best to move through the castle in systematic sweeps. Of course, the castle was designed to confuse invaders, and it seemed to view combat-trained witches and wizards looking to unearth one of it’s founders’ secrets as just that. 

On a good day, they could access half the castle at a time. 

On a bad day, staircases moved half-way through a group, meaning several aurors had to wander back to the Great Hall alone. 

Today was decidedly a bad day. 

And damn it, if she had to pass stupid Myrtle’s bathroom one more time trying to make it to the stairs, Tonks was going to stomp in there and curse the ghost to death all over again. 

That thought slowed her down. Wait. As part of the run-down before Moody let her join the basilisk-hunting trip (given he could see through walls, sending Moody would just be a waste of Mandrake Drought) Tonks had read profiles on all the ghosts. The file on Myrtle was far thinner than the others, partially, Moody claimed, because she was killed after his time but before he hit his stride in the office. 

Tonks had only made the mistake of using that bathroom once in her own schooling, and remembered what Myrtle looked like. Pale, of course. But no discoloration to suggest poison, no blue lips to suggest asphyxiation, no bloody wounds. It was as if…

As if the ghost just fell over and died. 

Tonks quickly turned around, returning to the bathroom. 

Myrtle was killed during the last Chamber incident, but if she had been killed by Argog, she would show distinctive black veins. But she didn’t. In fact, Myrtle looked to be in perfect health, meaning that she was likely killed by the basilisk. How the hell had nobody remembered the contemporary witness right under their…

Tonks was unable to finish the thought as she slipped on the flooded floor and slid across to the sinks. Groaning, the trainee pulled herself up, bending over the sink in front of her and waiting for the dizziness to pass. Dumb clutzy feet.

“That tap’s never worked.” Myrtle complained. Tonks just sighed. Great way to start the conversation with the morose spirit, sliding on her ass. 

Tonks mentally prepared herself for the trial that would be interrogating Myrtle, and then opened her eyes.

Two tiny emeralds in a carved, diamond-shaped head stared back.

\-------------------------------------------

That year, a team of over a dozen aurors, five unspeakables, and seven representatives from the ICW, and two ‘personally invested civilians with relevant experience’ succeeded in killing the largest basilisk in recorded history. The group did so by covering the room in roosters, asking the ICW representative from India (where parslemouths were more common) to open the statue’s mouth, and then hitting the fowl with so many tickling charms they had no choice but to caw. 

The group, led by Kingsley Shackbolt, came to be known as the Basilisk Brigade, identified by their distinct, scaly coats. Of interest was the fact that all of the aurors either trained directly under, or were trained by someone who was in turn trained directly under one Alastor Moody.

Although Mad-eye himself could not participate on account of his prosthetic, the group did publicly present their senior auror with a coat made of the beast’s skin, matching those commissioned for each participant. The presentation was accompanied by dozens of heartfelt speeches about the man’s caring nature and kind tutalege in the middle of the Ministry lobby.

Years later, when Moody finally retired, the DMLE’s pensive would be put to great use examining all the looks on the man’s face.

Trainees in later generations, including the twins Alastor and Remus Potter, took copious notes of the curses Moody used against Sirius and Remus when he discovered the coat was pranks.

Lily and Molly Potter, as well as James Black and Edward Tonks-Lupin grew up amongst prank war that ensued, a chain of hilarious, harmless attacks that would last generations more and eventually encompass most of Hogwarts, half the Ministry, and would reach as far as the continent.

When the muggle world eventually found out about the wizards among them, the integration was peaceful and bloodless. After all, the muggles reasoned, how ready for combat could an entire society embroiled in a permanent prank-war be?

This logical fallacy was called into question years later, when two countries went to war, and their magical populations managed to divert a nuke strike. The Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, one Arthur Granger-Lovegood said, in a statement, “Of course we know how to diffuse those things! And yes we have divinators constantly monitoring the world’s most powerful weapons depots. Moody’s law, ‘CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’ and all that.”

\---------------------------------

Platform 9 ¾ was filled for what would be the final time of this school year, and all parents were excited to see their children home. Especially considering the upheaval of the last few months. 

First, there was the possessed teacher at Hogwarts. At the time, the DMLE kept the spirit’s true identity “under wraps”, but that was now no longer necessary. The anchors Voldemort used to keep himself bound to the world of the living were all destroyed. The public had few details on what they were, but they knew one had been used to open the Chamber of Secrets, in which a basilisk was hidden. That basilisk was sent out to petrify (and possibly kill) students by a first-year that got possessed by one of the aforementioned anchors. The first-year’s identity was being kept strictly private, but speculation was rampant. Many suspected one of the Death Eater’s children. It would be poetic justice, after all.

(The Grangers knew this was untrue, but when Madam Bones told them what had happened to Hermione, they made a deal with their daughter; she got to stay at Hogwarts as long as she cooperated with her therapist and didn’t tell anyone what happened until after everything died down.)

The gossip ground to a halt for a few minutes as the scarlet steamer pulled in. Children exited quickly and with much fanfare, the pureblood families (what was left of them) whisking their children away immediately, and the muggle-borns and halfbloods creating a traffic jam for the gate, everyone eager to get home. 

Nobody paid any mind to the two Hufflepuffs who ran to a group of four adults, one woman and three men, or when Harry Potter called Mad-eye Moody “Gramps”. After all, with Voldemort gone for good, the young boy was guaranteed a long, Death-Eater and heroism free life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP! I actually finished something! Woo Hoo!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Your comments, Kudos and readership helped motivate me to get this done (and another half dozen started). Thank you so much!
> 
> I've got a couple of ideas for my next fics, so see you around! Stay safe!


End file.
